Foundations of Rubble
by Rae Stickler
Summary: After the release of "Humanz," Murdoc Niccals finds himself creatively impotent and actively withdrawn from the band that's already struggling to hold itself together. One night, his world collides with Cal Rivera's, who faces similar creative demons, and the spark of their companionship breathes new hope into everyone involved - though complications threaten that hope.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One.**

The drizzle was steady – not enough to require an umbrella but enough to annoy anyone standing under it for a time. Returning his pack of cigarettes to his back pocket, Murdoc sighed in exasperation, not because of the rain but because it was pointless to try to light up, and right now he needed a smoke. Pulling up the collar on his leather jacket, he proceeded across a street, the bottoms of his Cuban-heeled boots clapping along the asphalt. It was a familiar street to him though he couldn't remember its name. He remembered it because of the shanty neighborhood off to his right, in even more decay by some unlucky punishment. To his left was an old ceramics firm, where across its massive double doors hung an 'Out of Business' sign made from a wooden plank and shaky red-painted lettering, illuminated under the dim light of a rusting lamppost. Tufts of unkempt foliage lined the building, gripped the lamppost, made him wary about where to step lest he become entangled and left to rot with the rest of the dying ornaments that reminded him that he was home – if home was what it could be called.

A couple passed him on the sidewalk, sharing an umbrella, shifty-eyed and hushed, their cadence nearly inhuman. He grimaced in their direction, dug his hands deeper into his jeans pockets and remembered the only thing desirable about his journey: past the shitty primary school, tucked into the corner near the Whelan Discount (which was also abandoned, having closed with he was 12), there was a beam of hope called The Three-Legged Pig, or The Pig, as he often referred to it. He recalled the owner, a Dutchman by the name of Bram – _was it Bram?_ He rolled his eyes. Who cared? If it was still open, it didn't matter what poor soul inherited the shithole. All he needed was a glass of whiskey, an empty stool and time … a fuck-ton of it.

In his pocket, his cell phone pinged. Maintaining his pace and casting a quick look around, Murdoc grabbed the phone, its blue light blasting him in the face.

 _This twat_.

Across the screen was a text from 'Faceache,' which read 'U still alive?'

Murdoc smacked his thumbs at the screen with aggressive fervor. 'Unfortunately, yes, given current circumstance. Fuck off.'

Replied Faceache, 'Wanna make sure U R fine.'

'Bloody walk, mate. Nothing more.'

'In the Potteries.'

'Go have a wank, 2D. You need to recharge the batteries. The ignorance is showing.'

'Fine, Muds, but call if U need help.'

At this, Murdoc chuckled. 'The help I need you aren't qualified to give.' He added a 'Piss off, wanker,' and shoved the phone back into his pocket, switching it to vibrate in the process.

Passing the darkened primary school, Murdoc quickened his pace, realizing the marketplace across the street was especially quiet, the overhead streetlamps blinking in an ominous way.

"Fucking place better be there," he groaned through gritted teeth, swatting the rain as he strained to see the state of the shops through the drizzle.

Whelan Discount was much of the marketplace, mostly a void of a backdrop. A couple of abandoned cars sat in the car park, stripped of most of their parts. The Pig was just around the corner, to the right of Whelan … _right?_ Biting his lip, he proceeded. _C'mon, gimme one, for once._

Turning the corner, Murdoc slowed his pace, his shoulders relaxing. Running a hand over his dark fringe to smooth down his now water-logged hair, the pep returned to his step as he crossed the street to The Pig, whose barely visible outer walls in the darkness offered that much-needed hope in the form of a dim Open sign casting a lethargic glow of neon blue light – if it could be called neon anymore. Despite the lack of energy, Murdoc could smile he was so happy for such a poor sight. The paint was chipped, the underlying wooden panels exposed and bloated from the weather. One of the hooks holding up The Pig's sign barely clung to the hook screwed into the corner of the sign, the thing dangling lopsided overhead. Noticing this, Murdoc stealthily darted through the heavy door, not ready to be the one unlucky bastard taken out by the pub's sign all in the name of some shitty whiskey.

The welcoming aroma of cigarette smoke and alcohol and staleness overcame his nostrils, and he inhaled the filth, absorbing its ability to calm his tired muscles with silent thankfulness. Even better (and expected) was the fact that he was one of five people in the place. Two men sat at a table tucked in the back, almost as weathered as the walls, speaking quietly as they glowered at the bar, where a woman straddled a barstool, her movement boisterous as the barkeep absently cleaned off a pint glass with a dirty rag. He knew in an instant she was drunk by the wide range of motion in her gestures, the way she spilled beer from the bottle in her other hand, the slurred American accent – the fact that she was drinking Corona in the first place. Still, there was plenty of room for him to spread out, grab some drinks and silently sulk into the wee hours of the morning, before slinking back to the hotel in Manchester with the rest of the band. He was sure in a few hours 2D would text again, maybe grow some balls and even call him to inquire about his state of mind, if he'd been pickpocketed yet, killed someone, impregnated some poor bitch, yada yada yada. 2D's list of questioning was never-ending, and nowadays Murdoc's ability to provide sufficient answers was becoming a chore. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he kept his phone in his pocket on the strongest level of vibration in hopes that those abundant messages would come. Despite 2D's ability to be the most irritating being in Murdoc's existence, it kept Murdoc from completely going over the edge on his benders. It reminded him that, through all this bullshit, he was still looked after in some way. And, in some way, someone needed him, even if that person was 2D.

 _Do not EVER say those words aloud_ , he chided himself, making his way to the bar. _Especially in front of 2D. The twat would never let you hear the end of it, probably con you into some kind of awkward hug or something equally insulting._

Dodging the arm of the drunk American, Murdoc leaned on the bar, the barkeep casting a harsh look at him.

"Shut it for a sec, Cal." To Murdoc, "Whaddaya want, mate?"

"Whiskey," Murdoc commanded, forcing a wad of cash across the sticky bar top. "Best to just give us a glass and the bottle, _mate_."

His upper lip twitching, the barkeep turned away, grabbing the money in the process.

"It _is_ best," chimed the American. Murdoc turned his head to her, envying the honesty of her current state. "I finished his only bottle of Southern Comfort earlier."

"Southern Comfort?" Murdoc took the glass and bottle of whiskey from the barkeep, pausing only to let the American know he heard her.

She crossed her legs on the stool and held up the Corona for Murdoc to see. "That's why I moved on to my _other_ lord and savior, Señor Corona. I told Roberto –"

"Albert," the barkeep corrected with blatant irritation in his tone.

The American nodded, holding up her hands in silent apology. " _Albert_ , I told him that Southern Comfort needs to be a thing here in Britain … England? Fuck, in this place, ya know?"

In any other situation, Murdoc would have pulled up a stool, coerced the girl into joining him in a bottle of whiskey, played his best moves and taken her back to the hotel to fuck. And her being an American girl would have been an effortless job. Despite the green tint of his skin and the years he had on her, his "accent" and occupation left him feeling like a revolving door most of the time, and most of the time, he was okay with that. He had no desire to settle down, to have kids, to do anything other than create music in some form, to say something of significance no matter the consequences, to bleed his ideas through the media to whoever was smart enough to listen. Even with the chains of his purpose, it was nice to indulge the flesh every now and again, to feel another's touch, to hear the words that everyone – even someone like him – yearned to hear: I want you, I need you, can I give you a blowie? He enjoyed the company and the possibility that maybe the feelings each party expressed in those sudden bursts of passion held some ounce of truth, though it was a long shot. When he was younger, those expressions were always a lead on to make the other person feel better about the situation, so as to not come off as a completely selfish asshole. He figured this gesture was unnecessary anyway; no girl ever asked for a diamond ring afterward, just cab fare. Sometimes one would ask for his phone number, hoping to turn a one-night stand into a double-night, maybe even a triple. He tried to be kind but honest. It wasn't a surprise that Murdoc Niccals was honest, especially when it came to saying no to things he didn't want to do, and girls who were fans of his band were well aware of what they were getting into if they found themselves in his bed. If they wanted a mint on the pillow and post-coitus cuddling, he sent them in 2D's direction. Otherwise, it was a "thanks for the good time, I'm off to the loo," and when they'd left, he'd shower, have a nightcap (or more) and pass out at some point into the next day.

In this moment, all the bullshit of one-night stands was lost in the rain outside the bar. Murdoc had not come for anything of the sort – he came for the booze and the quiet, and that's what he meant to do. He wasn't sure if it was the impending realization that he'd be fifty-one soon, or the recent melancholy that had gripped him for some reason, otherwise causing him the longest drought of impotency of his life. The worst was that mentally, he didn't seem to crave that soft touch either. His body and his mind were working against him, and he had no idea why. An internal war had started and his existence was caught in the crossfire, concerned that maybe it would never cease. He wanted to fuck someone, but he didn't want to go through the effort. He wasn't in the mood to chase anyone, which depressed him greatly. He was a perfect predator, and yet, even when approached about the topic from willing participants, he couldn't get it – anything – up. He couldn't think about anything sexy to say. He couldn't make himself pretend. All he wanted to do was drink and figure out why his existence was drying up.

Musically, he was becoming the same way. He hadn't been able to focus on writing. Even when practicing the older hits, he was having a hard time hitting the right chords, causing the band to question his ability. It was hell. He was used to condescending remarks from Russel, the overbearing coddling from 2D and curious side glances from Noodle, but as of late, none of them left him alone about it. Russel was convinced he was on something harder than his daily packs of smokes and booze, having already threatened him about his "junk" poisoning the band. Russel chose to overlook 2D's flirtation with painkillers, citing that even on something, he was still functional as their lead singer. But when Murdoc was off, he was off, and it was noticeable. 2D seemed to be convinced that Murdoc was dying or thinking about committing suicide, hence the amount of concerned texts. And Noodle … well, Murdoc knew Noodle was concerned, too, even though she didn't say much about it. She didn't say much anyway, at least to him, but he'd noticed that she cooked him food randomly, even left it outside his door when he was passed out from a night of drinking. Sometimes he found paper cranes around his room, folded from textured pink paper with hearts and other doodles etched into them. He never thanked her for them or chided her for going into his room without his permission – not because she wasn't young enough to be scolded by any of them anymore, but because she was the last person he wanted to stumble upon something unpleasant in his room. He knew he should eventually acknowledge the niceties because, whether she knew it, it had become a game he played when alone, trying to spot the newly introduced crane in the room, but thanking anyone for anything was a process for him. It was probably the gender thing, maybe the age thing – some stupid _thing_. Whatever the case, Murdoc didn't want her to be tainted any more than she already was by his messy existence. It was a wonder she functioned as well as she did with him in her life … _poor girl_.

The more these thoughts paraded around his head, the sadder he became, completely aware that sex was not an option for him, and giving the American girl a curt nod, he took his bottle and his glass, and sat himself in a booth in the opposite corner of the two glaring men, obviously offended by the cheery storm the American threatened the otherwise gloomy atmosphere of The Pig with.

At the bar, Cal the American shrugged off Murdoc's quick departure and returned to Roberto – _was it Alberto? Who the fuck cares?_

"What was I talking about again?"

"Dunno. I stopped caring after your second Comfort drink," Albert returned, wiping the bar top around her.

"That's … honest," said Cal, nodding in approval. "Ya know, in America, bar people just nod and smile, but you, you keep it real." She waved the Corona over her head. "Cheers to you, Alberto!"

"Albert."

Cal sloshed the rest of the beer down and set the glass onto the bar a little too hard. "Oops. Sorry man." Adjusting herself on the stool, she remarked, "I really wish you had more Southern Comfort though. But I'll take another."

"I'm fresh out of that piss."

Cal blinked, digesting his words. "What the fuck is this shit, Robert?"

"Albert."

"What the fuck is this shit, Albert? I'm so disappointed."

"Welcome to Stoke-on-Trent," chimed Murdoc from behind her. Clinging for life to the bar top, Cal turned to see Murdoc downing a glass of his whiskey, almost half the bottle gone. "Land of infinite disappointment and general disregard for human decency."

"I came here to escape that shit," Cal announced in his direction, taking the bottle of booze Albert handed her. Without looking at it, she took a swig and then spit it out across the bar. "What the fuck is this?"

"Homemade disappointment," replied Albert. "It's the house brew."

"It tastes like shitty toilet water," she grimaced, wiping her tongue on her sleeve. "What's the alcohol percentage?"

"10."

Impressed, Cal chugged the bottle, crinkling her nose as the bitter liquid ran down the back of her throat. Coughing out the last bit and wiping the dribble off her chin with the back of her hand, she returned the bottle to the bar top. From behind her, Murdoc slowly clapped.

"Well, well, I'm impressed."

Blinking several times and steadying herself on the stool, Cal cautiously turned her head around to see Murdoc highlighted in a warm glow of lamplight from overhead. He wore a black tee under his leather jacket, dark-wash blue jeans and black boots. His dark eyes were rimmed with the effects of sleep deprivation and the oncoming swell of his whiskey, just below a waterfall of bangs from his otherwise messy bowl-cut hairstyle. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust on him, wondering if maybe one of the Beatles had wandered in, considering she was somewhere in the UK or England or … well, it didn't matter anyway, they were dead, weren't they? The tint of his skin color was also confusing, as were the sharp black nails (with red pinky nails) on the spider-like hands he had wrapped around his glass, but the more she focused on him, the more she realized he looked completely at home in this place. His feisty smirk confirmed it.

"You talking to me?"

He nodded. "You're the only person in this bar I think could keep up with me." He patted the chair next to him. "Can I interest you in something more … appropriate for the job?"

Taking a deep breath, Cal stood from the stool, smoothed out her jean shorts, zipped her black hoodie all the way up and made her way to him with strategic foot placement, plopping into the seat opposite him.

"How've you not frozen?" Murdoc asked, noting the lack of pants, as he filled the glass and slid it to her.

"Man, I had no idea what to expect weather-wise here." Cal took the glass and she and Murdoc clanked it and the whiskey bottle together before taking long sips of the drink. Coughing, she covered her face in her sleeve until it passed. "I just bought the ticket and showed up."

Taking another chug at the bottle, Murdoc questioned, "You _willingly_ came to Stoke?"

Cal nodded as he poured her another glass. "I came to Manchester and ended up in Stoke-on-Trent. I told the cabbie I wanted cheap entertainment and he dropped me here."

"You must be daft or looking to get mugged. Probably both, I'd say."

Cal glared at him. "Try it, asshole."

Murdoc chuckled. "My aim tonight is to get as drunk as humanly possible – not harass the unfortunate tourists who find their way in this shithole."

"If you hate it so much, why're you here?"

This wasn't a question he wanted to answer. Sniffing, Murdoc hid himself from it by polishing off the bottle. As he swallowed, he held the empty bottle up, waving it about for Albert to sneer at. "Another glass, too." He turned back to Cal, who observed him under heavy eyelids. "You're not going to quit on me now …"

"Cal," she said, more alert than she let on. "And don't ask me what it's short for because I hate my name and it's stupid."

"Your name is stupid or your reasoning?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I won't dignify that with an answer."

Grabbing the glass and the new bottle of whiskey from an annoyed Albert, Murdoc continued, "Y'know, you speak quite well for an intoxicated American."

"And you embody all of the pompous bullshit I expect from an Englishman," she replied as Murdoc topped off her glass. Clanking his, she gave him a wink and took a sip.

Clicking his tongue behind his teeth, Murdoc sat back and swirled his whiskey, eying her. "Honestly, I had no intention of indulging anyone tonight, but since your deafening antics can't be shrouded by my drinking, I've decided it best that you entertain me with how the hell you ended up here."

Cal sat stunned by his remark, unsure whether to be offended by his crassness or relieved that honesty still existed in the world. Regardless, she wasn't that easy. "Listen, you motherfucker," she pointed at him with an adamant finger, "I don't have to you indulge you with anything. I came here with the same intention as you tonight: to get completely shitfaced in peace. And if my way is too loud for your precious green ears, you can get the fuck out. I was here first."

"I'd rather you both get out, you're both quite annoying," chimed in Albert from the bar but they ignored him.

Murdoc tipped his glass to her, surprised by her ferocity. "Fair enough, Cal. Can I ask, then, what you're lamenting?"

"What I'm lamenting …" She took the glass and pounded it, bringing it down to the table. "Well, fuck, where do I start?" She laughed at this, leaning back in her chair. "Jesus, Greenleaf –"

"Murdoc."

Cal winced. "'Murdoc.' Goddamn, that's a name."

Murdoc waited for a moment. Cal sat there, unfazed.

"Murdoc Niccals."

Slowly, a smile overcame her face.

 _This is it, here comes the 'wanna get drunk and fuck, Mr. Gorillaz?'_

"'Murdoc Niccals,'" she repeated, and then burst out laughing. "Holy shit, and I thought my name was intense. Yours … goddamn, yours is very English."

In a way, Murdoc was happy that she didn't recognize him. At least now the pressure was off and he could be himself without having to live up to some preconceived standard she'd have about him. It would be drinking and conversation – noise from her side, alleviating him from stewing in his thoughts.

"Well, Cal, now that you've offended my forefathers, what are you lamenting?"

"I, Murdoc, am lamenting the downfall of all that is organic and true in this world," Cal replied, clutching the front of her jacket. "I'm lamenting the death of beauty, and honesty, and the commodification of creative genius in this colorless world."

Every intention Murdoc had about letting her ramble on about how she was dumped by some douchebag in America and how she'd never find love or something stupid like that as he drank himself into oblivion shattered around him. He sat forward in his chair, convinced she was actually a mind reader, scared that she could read the concern on his face. He placed the whiskey to his lips, inhaled it, hoping this would somehow make him drunk enough to not care about her words, her valid lamentation that he did not want her to continue on about, but none of it was possible. Before she could really make a fool out of herself, Murdoc was hooked on her words. He glanced around, sure 2D was going to jump out at him from behind a bar stool, proud that he'd finally cracked Murdoc. Of course, that didn't happen.

Cal laughed, sitting the whiskey glass down. "Not even five minutes and I've already struck out. Thanks anyway, man."

"Wait – what?" Murdoc said with alarm as he watched her attempt to stand.

"No one understands," Cal told him. "Their eyes glaze over, like yours. I'm a mess, not a regular mess, but a mess no one wants to wade through. It's all good, I get it."

"Don't leave." The words came out suddenly, and Murdoc barely noticed he said them. "I mean, I'm interested in your issue. You see, I'm in a band, and sometimes … I feel like that, too."

Cal raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down as though inspecting his credentials and fell back into the chair again. "Let me guess …" She pursed her lips and tapped at them with her finger in exaggeration. "Bassist."

Murdoc eyed her. "How'd you know?"

"The brooding stare, the black hair, the inverted down cross. You've got coming-off-aloof-but-actually-an-attention-whore written all over you."

Again, Murdoc relaxed at the fact that she didn't say she knew because she read about him on .

"You're certainly astute. Journalist?"

"Writer."

"Is that not the same thing?"

"Fuck no. No one tells me what to write."

"Touché."

" _That's_ what I'm lamenting, Murdoc, my basic right to write as I please."

"Not following."

"I was gang-banged back home."

"And you hope to seek therapy through writing about it?"

"No – I mean, my story was. By some Hollywood assholes."

Murdoc cringed, understanding her immediately.

"You see, I wrote a novel and it was picked up by a publisher. It started to sell and I was happy considering my message wasn't as tainted as it could have been by editors. It even got picked up by a studio, hoping to turn it into a movie."

Murdoc refilled her glass.

"They really wanted it once the numbers came in from a younger demographic – you know, the severely impressionable ones who eat up without shame the shit you slap glitter on. Well, they tell me they're gonna make the novel into a movie and I'm stoked because I'll actually see my message come to life for an actual audience … like maybe I've created something of value. Something raw that the world will ingest and learn from. But when I go to the meeting, those assholes _fucked the shit_ out of my plotline, the ending, _the characters_. They completely destroyed the meaning of the story, wanted to hire a bunch of pretty, unscathed actors, cut my main female's lines down to the bone … fuck, Murdoc, they had ideas for merchandise – _merchandise!_ My story about suicide, about cutting, about finding a goddamn way to save oneself from the mental anguish of daily life was gonna be plastered onto _fucking backpacks and key chains_. My entire life's work has been stripped of all her dignity, finger-fucked in the ass by The Man. No lube, no love, no goddamn mint on the pillow. They wouldn't even let me consider the rewrites. They basically told me to sign over the rights and inherit a fuck-ton of money, or walk away."

"Well, what did you do?" asked Murdoc, anxiety coursing through his inebriated veins.

"Are you fucking kidding? I walked away. I took the shitty draft they had, ripped up what I could before security was called, and dumped it in the fountain in the assholes' conference room. I mean, I still have my book but … I'm scared now. I'm scared of what they could do with my idea, especially if they tweak it and try to market it as their own. They could do that, ya know? They could make a shitty mirror version of it and sell it, and profit off that counterfeit version of _my_ life's work." She sighed, leaning on her arm to support her head as the booze became liquid metal in her veins. _Don't start crying, you dumb bitch_. Forcing a smile, she shrugged and finished off the last of the whiskey in her glass. "Bukowski was on to something, ya know. He just wrote and drank, and didn't give a fuck about anything. I hate being human."

Murdoc wanted to say something to ease her pain, not necessarily for her sake, but for the cause. He understood exactly how she felt. It was a scary place to be in as an artist. He even wanted to ask her more about the novel, but he figured it was too soon. So, avoiding the pressure to stroke her bleeding heart, he asked, "So why Manchester?"

Cal shrugged. "After all that, I took my book advance and bought a one-way ticket to Paris, hoping that a change of scenery would help me mentally. Maybe start another book. Maybe channel a little Hemmingway or something. I have a shitty draft and the money's running out … so I looked for something cheaper and headed out this way. Once I got to Manchester, I started thinking about what to do next. Usually when I'm depressed, the writing comes easily but I think I went a bit overboard hopping the pond. I'm learning shit here and battling all of this anger at the same time, caught between awe and rage … and while I'm not necessarily one to need companionship, it's a been a little lonely."

"No family, eh?"

"They don't understand. They aren't used to this mess –" Cal gestured to herself. "They're concerned with my sister's residency at some hospital and the nieces and nephews she keeps popping out with her rocket scientist husband or whatever. They're all Malibu trash."

"Where's that?"

"California."

"Ah, California. I only know Los Angeles. And Hollywood." A bitter taste overcame his mouth, and he washed it down with another shot of booze.

"I was born in Malibu but as soon as I could leave, I did. Spent a few years in San Pedro, eventually saved up enough to find a decent studio in Venice. I love Venice." A smile overcame her face, one which Murdoc noticed immediately. "A lot of weirdos, but hardworking ones. It was nice." Her smile dropped as she continued, "Then I met a surfer named Ryan – dumb fucking name, right? Typical … anyway, I shacked up with him for a hot minute, to save on money and … well, to have fun with. And it was fun but it was also very obviously going nowhere. Ya know, that fucker never once asked to read any of my work? Anyway, I was with him when I finished the book, and then all this shit happened, and then the fucker tells me that it wasn't meant to be and that I should get a real job … and he offers me a spot at this surf shop he was working at." She sat up in her seat, suddenly alert as her metal limbs melted into magma. How her rage didn't burn through the rickety table upon which they rested was beyond her. "Now don't get me wrong, Niccals, I've done my share of odd jobs. I've never held down a job long enough to get medical benefits – well, maybe once. But still, for someone like _him_ , a moronic deadbeat to tell me it wasn't 'meant to be' after Hollywood contacted _me_ , I. Was. _Livid_. So livid, I … threw his favorite board off the balcony. Shit cracked right in two. I've never seen a grown man cry so hard over foam." She chuckled in bitter triumph as Murdoc poured her the last of the bottle. "What a bitch."

"And now you're here."

She nodded. "Actually, I just used the last of the money to buy a plane ride back home. My friend in Pedro needs a house sitter while she's in the D.R. for a month, helping a sick relative. While I'm there, I'm gonna try to figure my shit out. Find my own place, find some kind of work … try again with this novel bullshit."

"But not Hollywood?"

"Nope," she replied confidently. "I'd sell my soul for another bottle of Southern Comfort before willingly giving my mind to those cunts."

"I think that's brilliant. Realistically stupid but morally genius nonetheless."

"I'll take that wild sentence as a compliment."

"You should. Compliments come few and far between from this old mouth."

Cal chuckled.

"Speaking of, shall I get us another?"

She held up her hand to him. "Listen, Murdoc, I may be drunk and poor, but I'm no charity case. Roberto!" She snapped her fingers above her head. "Another round, on my tab."

"You don't have a tab – _and it's Albert!_ "

"Right! But you know I'm good for it. How long have I been coming here?"

"Three days too long!" Grumbling, Albert rummaged through his store to locate another bottle of whiskey.

Cal turned back to Murdoc, grinning. "He's been such a great friend."

Murdoc couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face. Her words were becoming slower, heavier, and the muscles in her hand strained harder to keep her chin up. He guessed she was at least in her later twenties, athletic build despite the frequent alcohol consumption, large brown eyes, dark hair she kept in a messy bun atop her head. Her fringe hadn't been trimmed in a while and fell into her eyes and down the sides of her freckled cheeks. He noticed a large tattoo on the outside of her left thigh, a beach piece which fit her well. He could tell she had another along her clavicle but couldn't see what it was because of the jumper she wore. The blue nail polish on her fingers was almost nonexistent. She wasn't the most well-endowed in terms of her bust size, but her legs were long and she had nice hips. The curvature of those hips freefalling into those legs was … pleasant.

Murdoc ran a hand over his face, shaking those thoughts out of his mind. _No, no, no. Not tonight. Not like this_. The voice in his head was odd, foreign. Who the fuck was he becoming?

He returned to her mouth, the part of her face that captivated him most, where all those words fell out in an eloquent rush of booze-induced thought – it was a conundrum he'd never faced. Okay, so she had been burned by a guy, but that wasn't the point. The point was she was scorned by the abuse towards her art, and if anything could give him wood right now, that was it. It had been a long time since he'd met a kindred spirit in that essence, and as Albert sat the bottle of whiskey down between them, Murdoc felt the urge to ask her a hundred more questions before the booze eventually took its toll on her. After all, she was right: she had been there first, and she was way ahead of him in the race to oblivion.

This led him to his next predicament: if she did decide to go, or if she passed out, or _if_ she made a pass at him, what was he to do? As a general concern and knowing the danger of traveling alone in the middle of the night in Stoke, it seemed a terrible idea that he should let her walk back to wherever it was she was staying by herself, especially dressed the way she was. She could get kidnapped … or catch a cold. He could take her back to his hotel room, too, to let her sleep it off … or let her fuck him … or jerk off to another one of her spiels on art, while staring down the length of those legs. Or, he could do the right thing and let her do as she wished, and continue on his mission to get fucked up by himself in The Pig until 2D came to his rescue.

 _Goddamn it. God, you sonofabitch, this is all you, innit? All I want to do is decay in peace …_

The clanking of Cal hitting the neck of the whiskey bottle against his glass brought him back. She grinned at herself, quickly shrugging it off as some whiskey ran down the outside of the glass, and then pushed it towards him. She raised her glass.

"To you, Murdoc Niccals, for listening to my bullshit as this old spinster descends into madness." Cal tossed the entire glass back before Murdoc could even lift his own. Waiting for her to swallow, he finally brought the drink to his lips, considering her words. _Spinster_.

She laughed, somehow reading his mind. "Was that, like, English enough?"

"Spinsters are usually old."

"Yeah, well, this spring chicken is … _clucked_." Again, she laughed harshly, her eyes becoming slits on her reddened face.

"Love, with all due respect, you're a child."

His comment sobered her up for a moment, the offense crossing her face. "Fuck you, Niccals, I'm not a kid. I'm thirty-two."

Now it was Murdoc's turn to spit his drink. "Thirty-two?" He chuckled, remembering when he was thirty-two and Gorillaz was still in its infancy. "I pegged you at twenty-five, twenty-eight tops."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'd peg a twenty-something." She grinned at him, more impressed by her own joke.

"And I'm sure in your spinster state, you'd love a good pegging, regardless of age."

"I don't know, I associate penises with Ryan right now, and I don't know if I'm ready to … ride that wave again for bit."

Murdoc tried to roll his eyes at the pun but instead laughed. It was probably the whiskey finally getting him to that impressionable point where all reason doesn't exist anymore. As much as he loved intellect and prided himself on his smarts, he _loved_ this state. Ignorance meant not caring, and right now, he didn't want to care.

Cal reached for the bottle of whiskey but it slipped from her grasp, Murdoc's single ability in his drunken state allowing him to catch it before it cracked upon the table. She blinked at him and then at the bottle and then back at him, sighing a gentle, conflicted sigh before leaning away from all of it.

"I'm getting sloppy," she told him, and stood on wobbly legs. "I think that's my cue."

Murdoc took a shot of whiskey to ease the sting of those words. He felt foolish for feeling this way, knowing damn well this transaction should have never taken place. Maintaining an even tone, he asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

She nodded, pulling the hood over her head with clumsy accuracy. "Murdoc Niccals, I appreciate your time and your company and the shitty whiskey. But now," she feigned a terrible French accent and bowed to him, "I bid you adieu." Standing tall again, she saluted him. "Adíos, amigo. I'm going to go throw up outside."

With that, she turned on her heel and headed towards the door, taking only a moment to face a reddened Albert behind the bar. "Don't think I forgot about you, bestie. I'll be back tomorrow with some more cash."

"Do me a favor and take the cash and go back to the bloody States where you're wanted."

Cal held up a middle finger to him and pushed herself through the bar door. Murdoc was sure she fell on the way out but if she did, it was just outside the door, out of sight. Immediately, he jumped up, then considered this gesture. _Just let it be, Niccals_. Ah, that voice! It was hers, saying his name in that slurred American accent. At the very least, he wanted to make sure she made it into a cab. Grabbing the whiskey bottle, Murdoc headed to the door, Albert calling to him from the bar.

"Don't do it, mate, she's mental. Nearly started a fight with some patrons last night over how to pronounce 'tomato.'"

"Sounds like fun," Murdoc spat at him. "Be back in a tic – save my seat, _mate_."

He pushed through the door just as Cal was puking into the shrubbery against the wall of The Pig. He stopped, giving her space, as he listened to the last of the contents of her stomach come up, a sound all too familiar. She was crouched down, holding herself around the chest. Instinctively, he wanted to at least touch her shoulder, assure her that she wasn't alone, the way 2D did sometimes with him. He'd usually bat him away to save face, but sometimes he'd pretend to be so fucked up that he'd let his bandmate's hand linger. 2D was an annoying bugger, but he was also very comforting, and sometimes Murdoc needed that.

"Y'okay?"

Spitting a final time, Cal nodded. She stood up, brushed her bangs back, and slowly turned to him. Murdoc could read the embarrassment in her eyes, but he knew she wasn't that easy. Placing her hands on her hips, she chuckled to herself.

"I tried to make sure it was out of the way. I've totally slipped in puke before. It's not fun."

"Right …" Murdoc glanced around. "Listen, I know a thing or two about this place, and while I don't mean to cramp your style, I'd like to make sure you at least get home okay. Are you within walking distance?"

"Manchester, remember?"

"Right, right." He wasn't ready to end his night, but he also didn't want to her end up the victim of some cabbie murder case. Clutching the bottle tightly at the neck, Murdoc carefully approached her. _Don't sound stupid, Niccals._ "Cal, please don't think I'm trying to get in your knickers or anything – not that you're not fuckable or anything –"

"What a gentleman," Cal remarked with an overabundance slurred of sarcasm. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gait slightly off.

"I'm actually staying at a hotel in Manchester with my band. If you'd like to share a cab, I'd pay. Really, I just want to make sure you make it into something safe. I mean not to demean your obvious L.A. street smarts or whatever, but this is a hard neighborhood."

She seemed unconvinced. He sighed.

"I'm from here."

Her expression softened. Then, she gave him a faux look of concern, clasping her hands together and walked to him, Murdoc instantly moving away, knowing exactly where she was going with this.

"You're a charity case, too? Aww …"

"I'm not a bloody charity case, _you_ are."

"Help me, handsome prince, save me from the dumps of this godforsaken squalor." She put the back of her hand to her forehead, then laughed and stumbled forward, Murdoc catching her, holding her a safe distance away from him. She continued to laugh, steadying herself. "Americans are so stupid."

"They're … interesting."

She moved out of his grip and wiped a tear from her eye, turning back to the street. "Okay Niccals, you win. Get us a cab to Manchester."

Behind her, a small smile crossed his face.

* * *

In the time it took for Cal to vomit two more times and for Murdoc to finish off half the bottle, the cab finally showed, and Murdoc and Cal retreated to the backseat. She laid against the cigarette-tarnished fabric with her eyes closed and her lips parted. Murdoc leaned away from her, his head against the window, staring out at the brightening of the night as they neared Manchester, sipping on the bottle and finishing two cigarettes before he realized he had no idea where Cal was supposed to go. As they neared his hotel, he nudged at her, asked her where she was headed, but she didn't respond.

 _She's fucking dead_.

The cab driver glanced back at him in the rearview mirror, and Murdoc shrugged at him. "Just drop us at my stop."

The driver raised an eyebrow and Murdoc glared at him. Maybe in the past this would have been an opportune time for something magical to happen between him and a girl. He'd been good at rousing them to offer sex, to which they'd accept with sloppy yet adamant effort. But he didn't want that. He was over the stupidity of it, and blacking out seemed far better a venture. Besides, Cal was tired, emotional and needed sleep. If he'd been in her place, he hoped that that Murdoc would have respected him in that way. Also, sex after vomiting was a danger zone Murdoc had crossed on a few occasions and it _never_ ended well no matter how hard he'd tried to disprove that theory.

The driver stopped at the hotel and Murdoc paid him. He moved around the outside of the cab to Cal's side, opened her door and tried a final time to rouse her. "Any chance you can walk, love?"

Cal's head lulled to him and her irises revealed themselves between heavy eyelids. "Mmm … tacos … extra cilantro." Her eyes disappeared again.

Murdoc looked to the bottle, sure he couldn't carry both it and her, and downed the last of the whiskey, dropping the empty bottle into the gutter. Steadying himself, he pulled Cal out of the back of the cab and, with much effort, carried her into the lobby where, to his relief and annoyance, 2D buying snacks from the vending machine.

"Oy, wanker, a little help!"

2D turned and gasped. "Oh, not again, Muds!" He dropped his snacks and rushed over, and helped Cal down out of Murdoc's grasp, the girl leaning against him as she mumbled incoherently into his chest.

"Are you fucking mental?" 2D questioned, realizing the girl was passed out. "That's _illegal_."

"I'm not going to touch her, you demented twat," Murdoc seethed, pulling Cal back to him. "I just need your help carrying her to my room so she can sleep it off. You're going to give me your bed."

"We'll share."

"Fine. But I swear to Satan, 2Dipshit, if you even so much as breathe in my direction, I will smother you with a pillow."

"You know that won't work, Muds, I've perfected my breath-holding time."

Murdoc slung one of Cal's arms around his shoulder, 2D taking her other side. Together, they carried her to the lift, where the silence of the elevator overcame them until 2D could no longer take it.

"I thought you went to Stoke."

"I did."

"Then where'd you find her?"

"In a pub in Stoke."

"Why the fuck was she in Stoke?"

"It's a long fucking story, wanker, and I'm tired."

After a pause, 2D chimed, "She's quite pretty. Not really your type, though."

"Hardly. She's a rowdy American."

"Blimey, in a pub in Stoke. Poor thing."

"I think I egged it on a bit. I felt bad, hence the reason she's here."

"That's awful nice of you."

"I'm an awful nice guy."

The lift doors opened and the two carried Cal down the corridor to room 306 – Murdoc's room. Fumbling for his room key, Murdoc shoved it into the slot and the door opened, Murdoc and 2D moving inside. Carefully, they crossed the space to the disheveled bed, stepping over Murdoc's clothes, shoes, and empty beer cans strewn about the floor. 2D released Cal and Murdoc laid her in the center of the bed on her side, 2D covering her with the sheet up to her neck. They stood there for a moment, Murdoc watching the sheet rise and fall with every breath Cal took, 2D watching Murdoc watch Cal. Sensing the two voids of 2D's face on him, Murdoc snapped his head in 2D's direction, causing him to wince.

"The fuck's wrong with you?" Murdoc hissed, grabbing some clothes off the floor and tossing them haphazardly into one of his suitcases.

2D watched him, tapping absently at his side. "You just seem different is all. It's been that way for a while now, but … I don't know."

"You never know."

"Need help?"

"I'm just … I just don't want her to get tangled up in this shit when she leaves in the morning."

"It is the morning."

"Fucking hell, you know what I mean."

"Just leave her a note to come to our room tomorrow before the interview. That way you can say bye."

Murdoc snapped up, holding a shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. "And why would I do a thing like that?"

"She'll be hungry. Perhaps she'll wanna grab a bite."

"You're always hungry, you take 'er."

"She's your friend."

"I've known her for three hours, idiot."

"Still, maybe she'll want to thank you. Or maybe she'll want a shirt. I brought a few extra for the interview, for the hosts. But maybe I'll have extra."

"She doesn't know who I am."

2D's eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "She doesn't? You mean to tell me she willingly drank with you … as _you_?"

Murdoc glared at him.

"I didn't mean it like that, Muds! I just meant … you 'ad a real conversation. It's hard to come by those nowadays."

As much as Murdoc wanted to throw something at 2D's face, the man had a point. Still, he could never admit that. Grunting, Murdoc took the shirt and underwear, and moved towards the door. He stopped only when he noticed 2D leaving something under Cal's arm.

"Leave her alone, she needs sleep."

2D stood and smiled down at her. "It's just my room number. I also left your cell number, just in case she misses us."

"You didn't need to do that. I already know where she'll be if we _needed_ to see her again."

"Where?"

"The Pig in Stoke."

2D nodded. "Perhaps after the interview we can all pop by!"

"You're an idiot, 2D," Murdoc announced as he held the door open for his bandmate, 2D crouching to go under Murdoc's arm. They both moved to the next door over, 308, and 2D opened his room. The younger man entered the door, going on about how it'd been a while since he, Russel, Noodle and Murdoc had all been out for a drink together and how that would be fun, but Murdoc lingered in the doorway for a moment, wondering if he should have at least left Cal a glass of water. 2D always left him a glass of water on the nightstand after a bender but … if he did so now, he'd never hear the end of it from 2D. Suddenly, the man would be planning Murdoc's wedding, giving middle names to his nonexistent children, creating spreadsheets on how to save money for each child's uni tuition.

Murdoc, hearing 2D in real life and in his head, rolled his eyes and let the room door close behind him with a snap.


	2. Chapter 2

Cal rolled over, her arm hitting the wooden headboard. The distinct _thunk_ shook her awake, and she sat up quickly, the immense pain of her head reminding her that whatever happened last night involved a lot of booze. Blinking several times, her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, though she was confused. This wasn't her room. Looking down her front, she was still in her hoodie, could feel the discomfort of having slept in her jean shorts. The only things that had been stripped off her were her shoes, which she found placed neatly at the base of the nightstand next to the bed. A glass of water sat there as well, two pills which she assumed were aspirin and a plate of hotel pastries from the continental breakfast selection. Under the plate was a folded-up note. Taking a final glance around the room, she noticed an opened suitcase overflowing with jeans, assorted shirts and jackets, most of it in black. A bass guitar sat along the chair near the window, its case leaned up against the wall. Noticing a stray beer can near the trash, she realized whose room this was – Murdoc Niccals'.

She checked her clothing one more time to make sure that he hadn't been too crafty about redressing her if they'd had sex, but she couldn't find anything out of place. It was hard to believe that someone like him wouldn't jump on the opportunity – she hated to think that but she also knew how she could be drunk, and he seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed the company of women from the way he spoke to her with such assurance. Thinking back on the evening as she popped the pills and downed the glass of water, she recalled that he hadn't told her much about himself but seemed eager to share a cab with her. Maybe he was trying to be nice … maybe.

Her eyes fell to the plate of food and while she wanted something to eat, she grabbed the note tucked under it.

 _Cal -_

 _Should you feel so inclined, me and my bandmate are literally next door and wouldn't mind your company. However, we will be leaving just past noon for a meeting, and won't be back until this evening. Feel free to stay as long as you like, though I understand if you wish to leave. Either way, it was nice to meet you._

 _If I don't see you before you go, I wish you the best in your fight against The Man. He's a right cunt. Hope to catch your novel someday._

 _– M. Niccals, Aloof Bassist_

Cal chuckled, rereading the note. His cursive was messy but readable. She turned the paper over and realized he hadn't left a number or anything to contact him, and while a part of her wanted to wait around for him, mostly for the company, she didn't want to intrude, especially because he wasn't alone. Sighing, she folded the note back up and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. _Noon_. Cal glanced at her watch: 3:36pm. _Fuck_.

"Well, Rivera, you missed the boat." Cal swung her legs over the bed and bent over to grab her shoes, noticing some shredded-up paper laying partly under the bed. Disregarding it, she tied her shoes and grabbed a pastry, giving the room a final look before shakily making her way to the door. Outside, the corridor was quiet. She glanced at room 308, noting the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the handle. Looking back, she realized Murdoc left one on his door. Two other doors across the hall had the same ornament. With another bite of pastry, she pulled out her phone and summoned a cab.

The drive was thirty minutes of quiet in which she leaned her forehead against the window, the cool glass helpful with her headache. She spent the time recounting what she could of the night, remembering what he looked like under the shitty lighting of the bar, the way he drank whiskey like it was water, the distinct conflict of manners and fuck-all gusto that played out in his posture and the way he held his glass. When she recalled his voice, she told herself to get a grip, that thinking about him was useless. She was never going to see him again and even if she did, it didn't matter. She'd be flying back to the States to figure out her life. The last thing she needed was something else to concern her, to distract her, especially if that something was a man.

What she needed to worry about was where she was going to live in a month and where she'd find work. Worst case scenario, she'd have to shack up with a friend, but there was still the employment process. She had a couple of ideas about where to apply, though the idea of joining the workforce again depressed her. Real life felt so mundane. Really, she wanted to lock herself in a room and write, bust out an entire novel again, and feel that immense satisfaction of exorcising the emotions she kept locked up in her being. Writing was like being in a relationship, starting with the excitement of flirting with an overall idea, the pleasure of finishing specific scenes, and then the downward spiral of finding contentment in the words and fighting with oneself about staying focused, pushing through the wall, and eventually finding that happily ever after in crafting the perfect ending – whether happy or tragic. She preferred tragic endings. They were more real, and despite her love of fiction, she always wrote realistically. If there was anything Cal was not an expert in, it was those fantasy worlds were people met, fell in love, conquered some bad force together and rode off into the sunset. Cal wrote about what she knew, and riding off into some sunset had yet to occur, and she knew it probably never would.

What she did know about was disappointment and the constant battle of climbing up a never-ending avalanche. She knew about being alone and about being told what she couldn't do, as well as what she _should_ do. Her parents and sister were quick to diagnose her at holidays and other occasions in which she was coerced into spending time with them. They all hated the fact that she dropped out of community college to write, considering she came from a family rooted in the medical field, except her mother's sister Lily. Lily had been an artist, her house more of an art studio than anything else. She painted and made ceramic pieces, and whenever a younger Cal would visit, she would craft stories about her aunt's artwork. Her mother was never impressed by Lily's techniques, quick to state how sloppy the acrylic hardened on the canvas, but Cal couldn't understand why her mother didn't feel the way she did whenever she sat with a piece. It was more than aesthetics; it was the underlying emotion and silent display of Lily's mood in each piece that captivated Cal, like a secret language that only a few could understand.

Lily didn't live in a large house in Malibu like Cal's family. She lived in a small space in Venice Beach, the "slum of the West Coast" as her parents deemed it in quiet jest when they assumed Cal couldn't hear. That was where Cal had wanted to end up one day, in a small but loved space in Venice, surrounded by art and her writing and the books of her favorite authors. Lily wasn't there anymore, Cal only able to visit her muse at Rose Hills in Whittier. She was the only one who did, realizing this when her long decayed flowers were a wilted mess on her aunt's gravestone. It didn't surprise her. Lily left this life behind by means of an intentional overdose, and Cal's parents were extremely religious, convinced that the devotion to her art did her in. Of course, this enraged Cal. She knew Lily had a plethora of mental issues she used art to attempt to transcend. And while her passion couldn't cure the illness she never sought medical treatment for, Cal knew that most of the time her aunt was happy with her life. She was surrounded by what she loved, and that's all that mattered.

 _There's always going to be ugliness in this world, Cal, but you use that ugliness to paint a better picture. Without the pain we wouldn't know pleasure, and without the ugliness, we wouldn't know beauty. Accept the balance and carry on._

Her mother didn't want Cal to read those words left in the letter that was found addressed to her when they came to collect the last of Lily's belongings but Cal managed to find it and read it anyway. She intended to tattoo those words in her aunt's beautiful cursive when she had the money, but for now the letter was stored safely in a journal she had at the hotel. She carried the letter and journal everywhere with her. Lily would have supported her trip to the UK. She would have supported her decision not to sign the rights for her book over to the Hollywood executives, and she sure as hell would have helped her through this depression on her plight to write something truthful.

Her head pounded heavily as her hand slipped over her face, the tears falling freely now. Her heart hurt from the idea of having to endure reality without the wonder of being inspired. Nothing caused her mental anguish the way creative impotency did, and the feeling of failure seized her as she cried into her hands, unaffected by the stares of the cabbie at her through the rearview mirror. He asked once if she was okay, but her silence made him aware that he needn't ask again. He did open the cab door for her, though, when they got to her hotel. She tipped him a couple of bucks she knew she could spend on booze, but she felt bad that he had to endure her crying.

Heading up to the room, she decided she needed to shower and change her clothing. She smelled like vomit and cigarette smoke. She figured she'd take a nap, grab something to eat at one of the little shops nearby, hail a cab and then head back to The Pig. The booze was cheap there and the place was always empty, and something about Stoke-on-Trent called to her.

In the shower, she broke down again and sat against the wall, crying into her arms as reality reared its ugly head at her.

"Get a goddamn grip," she chided herself, eventually standing herself up.

She retreated to the bed naked, throwing herself under the blankets, and fell asleep.

* * *

On the other side of town, Murdoc pulled out his cell phone and glanced down at the time. 18:36. Behind him was the incessant chatter of crew personnel as they started to break down the stage, Noodle and Russel still on the couch talking to the hosts, more than likely about things other than music the way they all stared at each other with such intent. The last time Murdoc had seen 2D he was talking up one of the makeup artists over a jelly donut, bragging about his extensive geode collection at Spirit House. Murdoc cocked an eyebrow at this thought. He couldn't understand how 2D was thick enough to believe _anyone_ would be interested in hearing about geode rocks, let alone actually collecting the damn things.

This irritation was cut short as Murdoc caught a flash of blue entering his peripheral vision. Snapping his head up, 2D stopped in front of him, with a donut in each hand, staring down at Murdoc's phone. His black eyes widened.

"Did she ring?"

"What?" Murdoc snapped, shoving the phone into his back pocket.

"Cal. Did she ring ya?"

"No, no, why would you think that?"

"Well, I left your number …"

"So?" Murdoc growled at him, 2D flinching at the sudden elevation of his voice. "We're not all stalkers like you, calling strangers we've just met."

"It's not stalking, it's polite!"

Murdoc narrowed his eyes at him, trying to figure out how to respond without it sounding like it was a big deal – because it wasn't. Murdoc had no intention of hearing from her again. Still, he knew 2D wouldn't drop the subject until his curiosity had been satiated, and so he relaxed, telling himself to calm down to avoid any further altercation that might pique the interest of Noodle or Russel. That last thing he needed was a larger audience about something that really meant nothing, no matter how it appeared.

"I ripped up that note you left."

2D's expression softened. Quieter, he asked, "Why'd you do that?"

"Why the fuck shouldn't I? She's leaving for the States. It's not like we're gonna be here forever either."

"We coulda had a little fun, though. Met a new friend."

"She wouldn't have liked you. She's intelligent."

2D crinkled his nose. "Don't be a prick, Murdoc."

"Well, you stop being such a knob."

"You both cut it out." Noodle stepped between them, her back to 2D, securing the hem of Murdoc's jacket collar between two brightly polished fingers. "Are you behaving?"

"Don't waste your time," chimed Russel, approaching the group.

Murdoc gently removed Noodle's hand, lingering around it to give it a gentle squeeze. "Come off it, love."

"You promised." Her words were hushed but firm. "You've been better lately, but only because you've been withdrawn. I don't like it."

"I don't like the fact that you act like his human shield."

"I wouldn't have to if you stopped behaving like a child, Rōjin."

As much as Murdoc wanted to tell 2D to fuck off, he couldn't fight with Noodle, and he knew Noodle would take 2D's side. While Russel had been the father figure in Noodle's life, and he the twisted uncle (maybe it was more like grandpa, but uncle sounded so much younger), 2D had been the older brother who shared in that special sibling-type language he and Russel weren't in on. He knew Russel didn't care much; he just wanted peace. Murdoc didn't care either, except when it got in the way of his aggression towards 2D's idiotic ideas. When Noodle was younger, it wasn't much of a barrier because Murdoc and 2D could label their fighting as 'grown up time,' which she didn't understand. But now that she was twenty-six, she knew exactly what 'grown up time' meant, and she was the first to jump in to defend 2D with the strangest methods. In her younger twenties, she had no qualms with yelling at them both, though more so at Murdoc. Then, it was easy for Murdoc to dismiss her intrusion and retreat to his room to get drunk(er). Now, her methods had changed. He wasn't sure how or why but Noodle's approach was softer and confusing, with her frequent use of Japanese terms of endearment towards him (he wanted to be offended by being called "old man" but the gentleness with which she spoke the word made that impossible). Plus, with the food and the paper cranes, Murdoc was completely thrown off by her approach. He hated that. He didn't know how to respond, and he hated being off his game. He'd never yelled at Noodle, unless it was an elevated defense over the group's bantering at him, and he didn't have any intention of doing so. He didn't even like to be around her, not because of _her_ but because of _him_. Of course, he loved her for her talent and for the place she helped elevate the band to, but at the same time he couldn't understand why someone with so much potential beyond music would stick around. She had 2D to confide in. She had Russel as a perfect mentor. Murdoc brought nothing to her life except turbulence – alcohol-induced turbulence and pain. She had to be crazy to want to stay … he'd made her crazy. This notion always forced him to back off.

Grumbling, Murdoc turned away from the group, catching the distinct disappointment on 2D's face.

"Stop being a bitch, Muds. We were gonna go eat," Russel called after him.

Murdoc threw up his hand, dismissing the offer.

"Do you want company?" 2D added.

"Does it look like it?" Murdoc spat over his shoulder.

"Will you ever?"

Murdoc cringed at her voice. "I'm behaving. Keep an eye on the boys."

The group watched him pass through one of the exits, slamming the door shut behind him. Noodle turned to Russel and 2D, placing her hands on her hips.

"Don't sweat it, Noodle-Bowl, you know what it is," Russel told her, placing a massive hand on her shoulder. "I thought the aging would calm his ass down, but it seems he's going that feisty-convalescent route."

"I wish I knew how to help him," she sighed, glancing back at the door. "It's frustrating."

"The only way that's gonna happen is if he wants the help. He don't want shit right now, except to be a little bitch about everything."

2D wrapped an arm around Noodle's shoulders. "I understand the frustration, I do. It's like wanting to eat an entire box of donuts cos you crave 'em all, every flavor, but you know you shouldn't cos that's bad for you, but you really can't decide on which _one_." He sighed. "But Rus is right. He needs to want the help. However," he perked up, giving her a playful squeeze, "there may yet be hope for 'im if he goes to a bar tonight … a _particular_ bar."

Now it was Russel's turn to sigh. "D, we already talked about this. Wishes you make at 11:11 don't actually come true."

"I didn't do that this time."

"And that lamp you rubbed in Egypt, it wasn't really from the Cave of Wonders."

2D released Noodle and glared at Russel. "Come now, you can't tell me it was coincidence I rubbed that lamp and ten minutes later found twenty quid in the sand."

Russel chuckled. "You're some kinda special, D."

"What is the point, Stu?" asked Noodle.

"The point is, Murdoc met someone last night at a bar in Stoke."

"Oh, so you're saying he's cranky today because he's coming off a romp with a crackhead."

"No, Rus, I'm saying she's actually quite normal."

Noodle stared up at 2D. "You saw her?"

"I helped carry her to the room." 2D's smile lined the entirety of his face.

Noodle and Russel shot each other worried looks.

"You know that's … illegal, right?" replied Russel, adjusting the hat on his head. "I never considered you to be an accomplice to Murdoc's shenanigans."

"Oy, fuck." 2D shook his head. "Murdoc slept in my room. He gave up his bed last night to let this drunken American sleep off the booze. Real pretty girl, not very Murdoc-ish at'll."

"You think they hit it off?" Noodle asked, sensing where 2D was going with this.

2D nodded. "But see, I left his number for her this morning and he told me he ripped it up. That's what we were going on about just before you lot showed up. I asked him why and he said cos she's leaving but … I don't know, the way he answered didn't seem truthful. Still," he held up his finger with serious intent, "there's a chance she'll be at the bar in Stoke tonight. I'm hoping that's where Muds ends up. Maybe then they can hang out."

"And what, get shitfaced together?" Russel muttered. "Fuck behind a dumpster? 2D, I applaud your optimism but's ill-placed, man. Any chick Muds meets in Stoke is only going to amplify his problem."

"No offense, Stu, but, women have never managed to make Murdoc see the truth about anything. He always chooses poorly."

"The chances of Murdoc Niccals scoring a dime piece is wishful thinking, D. No time or magic lamp'll help."

"He listens to you, Noodle."

Noodle pursed her lips, eying 2D. "I hope you aren't suggesting I vouch for her. I don't even know her."

"But if you did …" 2D gave her a wink, to which Noodle shook her head.

"We can't interfere. It's only going to piss him off, Stu. I can only be your human shield for so long."

"Fuck Murdoc, man. If he wants to act like a bitch, that's fine, so long as he shows up to practices and concerts able to work. All that other shit, I don't wanna know."

2D turned to Russel, pleading, "But we're supposed to be a family, Rus."

"We're supposed to be a band. This," he gestured between the three of them, "became a family without him because he's always out there being stupid. Murdoc don't care about anyone except Murdoc, and if that's how he wants it, that's how he's gonna get it. I don't want anything to do with it."

2D considered this for a moment. Perhaps Rus was right to some degree but despite his willingness to give up on the old man, 2D knew better. He hadn't seen Murdoc smile in ages, even his sadistic ones he gave 2D anytime he plotted something against him. Murdoc was usually at a drunk to sober ratio of 75:25, but lately it was more like 98:2 – _that's how ratios work, yeah?_ He couldn't be sure but it sounded right. Anyway, Murdoc was starting to lock himself away to play records in his room, sometimes strummed his bass instead, only dressed when they had to leave the house, and they saw less and less of him at meals or other activities they planned together. In the past, Murdoc hung around with them, even if it was in the background, even sulked about it to some degree, though 2D was sure he wasn't honestly upset about it. There were plenty of times in which he'd seen Murdoc laugh or smile, even get in on the jokes, especially if they were at the expense of 2D, but it seemed like those times were ages ago.

Despite his unruly exterior, 2D knew Murdoc had something good within him still. He had the capacity to love and be loved to some degree, even if it was a mere flicker. 2D knew this because he cared for the bastard, through it all. He was an important corner in their obscure parental trifecta, a necessary one – even stale powdered sugar on a donut was worth chewing through to get to the jelly center, he knew. Murdoc had to have a jelly center. He wasn't hollow no matter how much he let on that he was. 2D had to remind Russel and Noodle about this before everything they'd all built together – through good times and bad – crumbled.

"Rus," said 2D, "I know it seems as though we've lost Murdoc –"

"Did we ever even have him?" Russel countered. "The bastard hit you with his car. Kidnapped me to get me into this band, man. Took Noodle in knowing damn well he could never be a father to her; he wanted her for her skills."

"Of course those're all valid points, but there's a decent tasting jelly in there somewhere."

Again, Russel and Noodle side-glanced each other, unsure where this 2D-tangent was headed.

"Who taught Noodle how to tie her shoes?"

"Those Velcro high-tops I bought her were cute, man! He also taught her every cuss word in the English language."

"And he gave you the biggest space at Kong so you could do your taxidermy."

"Yeah – and charged me a space fee."

"He gave me pointers on how to pick up women. And he plays video games with me. And he gave me my favorite pair of boots."

"He threw _his_ boots at you for touching them, and then said you could keep them because you fucked them up."

2D smiled weakly. "I still wanted them though."

"Alright, I see both sides of this," Noodle interjected. "Rus, I know your frustrations and can understand your position of hopelessness towards Murdoc. And 2D," she turned to him, offering him a small smile, "I know you see the light – er, jelly in all beings, as hard as that may be to find. You're a warrior with that gift. But here's my position on the matter." She paused, both Russel and 2D watching her with expectant stares. Of course they wanted her to take their sides, but they also knew her views hardly every fully aligned with theirs.

For Russel, even when Noodle didn't agree with him on certain things, it was a proud moment because Noodle's decisions were never from an ignorant place. If he'd taught her anything in their time together, it was that forming an opinion was work and had to come from a place of intelligent citation, research, and a moral stance. 2D helped with that in a way, too, at least with the moral part. 2D always saw the good in people, sometimes to a fault, and while it got on Russel's nerves at times, especially regarding Murdoc, he appreciated the balance 2D's character brought to them all. Russel would never deny 2D and Noodle as his family, but Murdoc … Murdoc was that enigmatic factor that constantly threatened their happiness, and that's what pissed Russel off the most. Of all of them, 2D and Noodle deserved to be happy, and too often Murdoc made that hard. Russel didn't want to see the old man slip into obscurity, nor did he wish him any harm but fighting for 2D and Noodle's happiness took precedence over Murdoc and his selfishness. Russel stood strong in his position. If Murdoc couldn't fight to better his situation, Russel wouldn't. Too many other things were more important to him, and he couldn't lose those things. So when Noodle's lips started moving in response to her position, Russel was ready to accept it no matter what she said because she was the wisest of them all, having been brought up in a household like hers. She accumulated all of their wisdoms and experiences, and created from that an arsenal she personalized for herself – the most important and greatest ability he could have ever been a part of bestowing on her.

Noodle continued, "We let him be. Murdoc is not stupid, but he's blind, mute, resistant to truth. Maybe we consider 2D's approach and make a little more effort at opportune moments, moments Murdoc extends – and only if he does so. But we also consider Rus's side not to coddle him. At some point he'll meet that intersection and will have to decide … and we can't be a part of it. We set boundaries. Murdoc will always be the foundation of this family, whether or not we like it. Because of him, we all know each other. That's the greatest thing he's given us. And I hope one day he'll allow himself to feel how we feel about that, but, he will need to figure that out on his own." She paused again, having a personal thought as she looked away from them both.

Both men noticed the conflict in her eyes, well aware of what she could be thinking about the situation, but wouldn't say aloud. Yes, Murdoc was blind and mute and resistant but … at times, so were they, though Russel would never admit this.

"I can't say I'll put my faith in Murdoc but I'll put my faith in fate. I hope it works out, mostly because I don't want to watch the consequences unfold."

Russel wrapped his arms around her. "This stuff with Muds has nothing to do with you. With any of us."

2D wrapped his arms around them both and buried his head into Russel's shoulder. He knew it looked dumb, and the chuckling from his bandmates brought out the color in his cheeks, but it felt nice. _If only Muds liked to hug this way …_ Maybe one day they'd surprise him with a group hug … he considered this as they all released each other, and he caught a smirk from Russel. Russel wouldn't want to be in on a surprise like that, and Murdoc would drown 2D before allowing that "prank" to come to pass. Still, even though they all weren't blood related, he yearned for times like these, like how it used to be back home with his parents. He loved hugs, and he was sure Murdoc would love them too if he was hugged the right way by the right person … _That's it!_

"Let's go eat," said Russel, motioning them on. "I'm starving."

"Me too," agreed 2D with pep in his step. Perhaps it was the idea of having dinner or realizing that he couldn't leave Murdoc's fate to … Murdoc, per say. Maybe wishes at 11:11 didn't come true, and maybe that lamp he rubbed in Egypt was a fake (as convincing as it appeared), but that didn't mean he couldn't help fate move into the correct direction for his friend. He appreciated the strength of his friends but he couldn't sit idly by wishing. He had to act, and if that meant igniting the flames of love to help Murdoc figure out what he needed, he was ready to accept such a quest. He could be strong, he had it in him. He'd show them – all of them – and maybe one day Murdoc would give him a hug of appreciation, a real hug, one without the intent to strangle or knee in the ribs. "I could eat twenty pasties right now."

Noodle gave him a playful shove. "When can't you?"

2D shrugged, giving her a toothy grin. They exited the same door Murdoc went through, carefully shutting it behind them.

* * *

He heard them go but he didn't show his face. Instead, Murdoc moved around the corner, leaning against the side of the building, and lit a cigarette as he heard 2D and Russel laughing at some unheard joke they all shared in. Murdoc's upper lip twitched and he took a long drag of the cigarette, allowing the poison to fill his lungs, holding it there for a pleasurable moment, before finally blowing out the smoke in a long exhale. They were going to dinner, not only because they'd mentioned it in the studio but because he could hear 2D listing his favorite pasty fillings of all time – a list he'd heard time and time again, one which he could list back to him if 2D ever requested it. Not that he would. It was useless information that had been imprinted on his brain and wouldn't leave.

When he could no longer hear their voices, Murdoc turned the corner again and hailed a cab. He intended to ask the driver to take him to the closest pub when a thought crossed his mind … _no, it's an hour away …_ He battled with himself until the cab arrived, scooting into the back seat and closing the door with a snap.

"Where to?" asked the driver, giving him a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

Murdoc hesitated. The easiest option would be to ask for the nearest pub, but more than likely it was close enough to just walk. Maybe he could ask for a specific pub? He recalled a decent spot in Warrington, which could justify the cab. But … he was very familiar with The Pig, and it was already just past seven … by the time he got down there, she might have already left. Maybe she didn't go at all. Maybe she realized blowing the last of her money during the final part of her trip was a foolish idea, or maybe she was still utterly hungover and asleep in his room … or back at her hotel. _Fuck, this is bullshit_.

"Oy, you there?"

Murdoc narrowed his eyes at the rear-view mirror. "The Potteries."

The driver lifted an eyebrow and pulled away from the curb.

Again, the drive was a quiet one, though Murdoc toyed with his phone instead of staring out at the city. He read an article about the upcoming shows the band had committed to in the States, which he was happy about. He wanted to get out of this area and back in the grind. He hated free time as of late. Free time allowed him to think, which frightened him into drinking, which made it hard for him to remember anything anymore. Life had become a series of inconsistent blinks in which he couldn't keep up with the entire picture. He was awake for a moment, asleep for a while, until he couldn't process the time of day or dates or anything unless someone reminded him about where he was. This was usually Russel yelling at him about band practice or going to interviews. 2D reminded him to get up at least once a day, peering his head into Murdoc's room with careful concern, light tapping and a "care to eat?" Murdoc always threw something at the door because of the sudden brightness of light or he roared obscenities at 2D for disturbing his sleep, which was a lie because he was never really asleep. It was more of a trance, allowing his body some kind of recharge, though his mind was on overload twenty-four/seven. Still, he silently appreciated 2D's daily rousing. It reminded him that through all of the bullshit he was still alive for whatever reason. It also reminded him that someone remembered he existed even though most of the time he didn't feel like he did.

Their laughter and talk of Cornish pasties rang in Murdoc's head. It was so stupid, conversations about food. Eating was a good idea but drinking was fun. He didn't know why but part of him felt bad for walking out so abruptly. He'd traveled so much with them but hadn't really done anything with them except sleep across the hotel hall or show up to meetings and interviews. They'd played a couple of shows in which they all went out with the roadies afterwards for food and drinks. Murdoc accompanied only for the drinks and then skipped out to find less crowded bars with quieter music and spaces to hide away in to drink without distraction. 2D accompanied him sometimes, but he could never keep up. He knew how to drink, yes, but eventually he became too clumsy and giggly, and ended up his head on the table, Murdoc having to drag him back to wherever it was they were staying for the night in his own altered state. He usually left 2D by himself in his room, but sometimes Murdoc would stay with him, just to make sure the wanker didn't drown in his own vomit. He'd listen to the sound of 2D's breathing, hear him mumble, until he began to stir and Murdoc would fumble his way back to his room. He meant nothing by it except to make sure the singer was alive through the night. Maybe he envied the sleep the singer seemed to find. Maybe he was afraid 2D would find a way to OD on painkillers in his inebriated state. Whatever those impulses forced Murdoc to do, he was certain 2D wasn't aware of his presence.

Only one person ever saw Murdoc leave 2D's room once, and that was Noodle. She was coming out of her hotel room at the same time as Murdoc nearly fell out of 2D's. They'd both caught each other's stare, their hands lingering on the door knobs, until Noodle gave him a smile and went on about her day, Murdoc stalking to his room in the opposite direction. They never spoke about it. She was a polite kid; he knew she wouldn't say anything.

It was an odd thing to feel obligated to someone, to feel wanted by them. He had no idea how he was supposed to react to it, having never known the feeling growing up, but when the notion surprised him every now and again from his band, it caused him great anxiety. He hated that about himself. Why shouldn't he laugh down the street, talking about the weather and Cornish pasties? Why couldn't he sit around the living room with Russel, Noodle and 2D, watching TV and having snacks? Why couldn't he make himself feel what they felt?

 _Because you're mental. A mental, bitter old man._

Murdoc ran a hand over his face. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to drink. When they made it to Stoke, he led the driver to the neighborhood, paid him and stepped out into the night. There wasn't any rain this time, thankfully, but he kept his jacket on, lit up a cigarette and walked down the street towards The Pig. His heart pounded in his chest. It annoyed him.

"This was a shit idea," he muttered, the cigarette clinging to his lower lip.

Involuntarily, he slowed his pace as he turned the corner, the dim sign of The Pig blinking at him. A couple of cars were parked in front along the street. Someone stood outside against the wall, Murdoc only realizing this as he saw the glow from the person's cigarette burn a bright orange as they inhaled. Murdoc reached for the pub door, side-glancing at the shadowed figure. It was an older man, eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He turned his head towards Murdoc but said nothing. Murdoc kept his eyes on the man as he pulled the door open, suddenly regretting his decision to come. _But why? Just bloody drink, you fool, whether she's here or not._ Grimacing, Murdoc stepped into the pub.

A few more patrons were seated this time, talking louder and more animated. The leathery couple were at their booth in back. Finally, Murdoc's dark eyes came to the bar. A man and a woman sat together with a pint each, smoking. Albert was behind the counter serving another pint of beer to … Cal.

He couldn't help it. It was completely stupid but his heart did something weird – a punch to the back of his sternum, and he smirked at the back of her head, then caught himself, shook his head and casually made his way towards the bar. She was going on again with Albert, who seemed bored by her speech about how inconsiderate The Pig was to not have Southern Comfort still. She only paused when Murdoc leaned on the bar top next to her, holding the cigarette between his fingers.

Feeling a presence suddenly at her side, Cal stiffened, whirled around with an accusatory finger and cried, "Not this time, asshole!"

Murdoc narrowed his eyes and gave her a grin, baring his teeth at her. "If not now, when?"

Cal's features softened and she started to laugh. "My, my, my – if it isn't good old Prince Greenleaf!" She turned to Albert. "Albert, get this man a whiskey."

"Yes, your majesty," Albert huffed, snapping the bar towel over his shoulder.

At her side, Murdoc chuckled. "I see you've managed to get his name down."

"I'm not _as_ wasted tonight," she replied and then gave him a wink. "But the night's still young."

"Yes it is." Murdoc took the drink from Albert and he clanked his glass against Cal's. Taking a long swallow, he set the glass down and took another drag off his cigarette. "How was your night?"

"I don't know, you tell me," she said, swirling the golden liquid around in her glass. She didn't look at him. "I was … under your care." She took a drink.

"Only until we left you in the bed."

Cal put her glass down. She turned to him, alarmed. "'We?'"

"I employed the services of my bandmate to assist taking you up to the room," explained Murdoc. "It was hardly a gangbang, trust me."

"It would've been a threesome," she corrected. "Jesus, that's embarrassing." She paused. "Why didn't you just take me to my hotel?"

"You never told me where you were staying, and you passed out. You were like a corpse."

"Fine, Niccals. I accept your help, and your aspirin and your comfy bed." She gave him a smile and then finished off the rest of the pint.

Murdoc chuckled. "How much catching up do I 'ave ahead of me?"

She set the glass down and waved to Albert. "I'm two in." She waited for Albert to return while Murdoc sipped on his whiskey. When she had another beer in her hands, Cal drew shapes in the condensation on the glass with her finger. Finally, she asked, "You left me that note but no number – why?"

"Oh." Murdoc finished the whiskey. "Thought I 'ad."

"Meh, no worries," she waved the comment away. "I left late in the afternoon. Had to get the lovely stench of vomit and cigarettes out of my clothes. Enjoy your sheets tonight, man." She nudged him with her elbow, and Murdoc couldn't help but notice that she was in a fresh pair of jean shorts, a black blazer and a white Deftones tee shirt. Despite the chill of the evening, Murdoc noted the flip-flops she wore, metallic silver polish on her toes.

"You really are an American," he cracked, and Cal followed his gaze down to her feet.

"Screw you, Niccals." She shoved him again, and he caught her before she slipped off the stool, steadying her. She laughed. "You're really an Englishman with your … your accent and … those boots."

"They're Cuban."

"And that mop top."

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "Is that the best you can do, Cal?"

"With the current brain cells intact, yes." She turned to him on the stool. She noticed he was standing between her and the stool behind him. "Sit down, Niccals, stay a while. Unless you're aiming to be an aloof bassist tonight, in which case I'll wave to you from the bar. I can't leave my bff Albert-o-rino – he keeps me happy with his shitty booze." She raised her glass to Albert, who shook his head and continued wiping down the counter.

"You see," Murdoc sat back onto the stool, a foot on the floor and the other resting on the bottom rung, "while I'd love to slip into obscurity by my lonesome, watching you make a fool of yourself sounds much more entertaining." He took a final drag off his cigarette and smashed the end of it into a dirty ashtray on his other side.

Cal smacked her lips, her face growing serious. "'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.'" She caught his stare from the corner of her eye. "Am I foolish, or am I wise?"

"You're a paradox, Shakespeare."

"Lucky guess."

"I am English. Fun fact, the old bastard's birthplace is not too long a drive from here."

"Oo, are you trying to seduce me with literary facts, because that would be a first."

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "You said you're a writer …"

"Hardly. After all that nonsense I told you about I haven't been able to write shit. Well, except the shitty draft, but I'm about to toss it. Not a poem … not even a doodle. I'm like an old, impotent man, standing on the other side of a brightly decorated window display of Viagra, only I can't get in." Cal rested her forehead on her palm, closing her eyes. She could feel the welling of emotion threatening to rear its ugly head. _Don't. Even. Think. About. Crying._ She moved her tongue over her lips and popped her eyes open, forcing a smile, which became an awkward laugh, and she looked at the pint in her hand. "Goddamn, what does he put in these drinks?"

Murdoc knew what she was doing. As much as he wanted to move away from a situation in which Cal started crying – because at that point he was certain he'd be lost as to how to deal with that – he was genuinely rueful for her. Feeling like a failure, especially when it was about one's passion and craft, was a horrible place to be in; he knew from experience.

"Cal …" he sighed, gritted his teeth, and then continued, "Hey, you can't let it get you down. So you've hit a wall. Big fucking deal. You don't get your writer's card revoked over rubbish like that. You can't just call on creativity … it's born from something, and perhaps you just haven't realized that something yet."

"I have an arsenal to pull from. A fucking list of significant scenarios."

"Whatever it is hasn't come to pass."

Cal took a sip. "Thanks Galadriel. I'll head back to the Shire with that ring of truth."

"As you should – _arse._ "

She gave him a wink and laughed into her glass. "But seriously, tonight can't be about me. I've said everything there is to say. What about you? You said you're from here?"

 _Not this again_. Murdoc glanced down at the bar top but knew he'd eventually have to respond. "Eh, born, yes. I got out as soon as I could though. Told you, this place is shit."

"Does your family still live here?"

 _Fuck_. "Well … yes. But … honestly, I don't speak to them."

"Sounds like an epidemic."

"Not curable, I'm afraid."

"I getcha."

"Moved out of Stoke after I started the band. Been on the road ever since, though we currently stay in Detroit."

"Yikes," Cal's eyes widened. "From one dump to another."

Murdoc smirked. "I know how to handle the locals. We actually do have privacy, the lot is fairly decent size, very … animated. Not too many venture close. It's quite nice, really."

Cal nodded. "You guys live together?"

"It's easier to record that way. Plenty of space, too, so it's like living alone. We stay out of each other's way, at least. I prefer it."

"A house of dudes. I can only imagine the clean up."

"Three of us, and a girl."

Cal eyed him, playful. "I don't know whether to feel bad for her or impressed."

Murdoc shook his head quickly. "It's not like that at all, trust me. She's quite younger and it's just … not like that at all."

"Sure." Cal took another swig of the beer. "Moving on from your living situation, what else is there, Greenleaf? You hate this place so much but you drink here. That means something."

"Bollocks."

"Everything means something. Everything we do or don't do has some intention."

"So, me lounging on the couch watching a bit of tele while scratching my balls means something, does it?"

She nodded with genuine consideration. "It means you have an itch. If it persists, consult with your doctor. They make creams for that."

The chuckle escaped his lips. "Cheeky." Thinking on her question for a moment, he absently swirled the whiskey in his glass. "The booze is cheap. It's tucked away. I can get away from everything to think."

"Your adoring fans won't find you here, huh?"

He eyed her. She was staring up at him through half-opened eyes, her lips curled, her head weighty on her palm. "It's easy to disappear in Stoke, whether you want to not."

"I hate to use this one, but, Niccals, you're like an onion. _So many layers_."

"I suppose I should be glad you said that and not something like stinky."

Cal laughed, picked up her head and sat as upright as she could. She looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Albert-a-rino, dude – can you fetch me some water?"

"Water?" Murdoc questioned as Cal turned back to him. "Don't tell me you're tapping out so soon, Cal." There was a genuine heaviness that gnawed at him as Albert grumpily sat the water in front of Cal.

She waved her hand at him, chugging half the glass in the other. "I'm not leaving, but I also don't want to start puking so soon, either. I'd hate to end up in another sexless threesome with you, Niccals."

"'Sexless' and 'threesome,' two words that should never find themselves within the same sentence."

"Does that depress you?"

"The sexless part, yes. Threesomes … meh, too much work."

"And this comes from your extensive knowledge on the subject?"

Murdoc grinned at her, running his tongue behind his teeth. "Fifty years of life comes with experience, love."

Cal nodded, impressed. She raised her glass to him, which he clinked. They both took a drink. "Well, fuck, I can't compete with that. You win."

He shook a finger at her, setting his glass down. "In the game of sex, there are no winners or losers, only the satisfied and the unsatisfied. Bullshit I did when I was younger may seem admirable, but if it's not your thing, it's not your thing, which does not place me 'ahead.' If you're satisfied with the status of your love life, at least where it's been, then who I am to say anything at all, except cheers."

"I wouldn't say 'cheers,' but it hasn't been horrible. So, yay for mediocre achievement." She raised a shaky fist and polished off her beer.

Murdoc shook his head. "That is truly the most depressing thing you've said all night."

"Even more than the whole writing shit?"

"Sadly, yes. Writing effectively is a selective talent. For fuck's sake, _every_ being on this planet should be able to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh." He raised a fist heavenward and glared up at the ceiling. "Have you no mercy, you soulless twat?"

Cal burst out into laughter and quickly clutched his upright wrist, pulling it down as she noticed others around the bar looking at them. He curled a lip at her as she held onto him, her laughter dying down as she realized she hadn't let him go. Finally, she released him, and he rested his hand on his thigh.

"Thank you, but I know how to fight my own battles, Sir Niccals."

"Don't worry, he knows I'm into Satan, anyway. He wouldn't do shit for me even if I asked."

"Oo, so dark," Cal teased. "Dark _and_ aloof. An emo kid out of time."

"I really wish you wouldn't degrade me so."

"Says the women you've been with."

"Low fucking blow, Cal."

She pinched his cheek and chuckled. "You can take it, Greenleaf."

His skin burned from where she pinched him, the sensation lingering as she moved away. Her hands were soft. "So, might I inquire as to when the US of A is finally ridding blessed Stoke of its favorite nuisance?"

Cal clutched her chest and bowed. "Thank you, thank you. And I'm being deported on Monday. The boat sails at noon."

"So Albert and I have to endure this nonsense for another couple evenings?"

"I'll have no part of it!" Albert chimed from the other side of the bar.

Murdoc watched Cal's expression relax. She licked her lips. "Was that presumptuous?" he inquired, the heat overcoming his face.

"Hey, if there's a party, I'm down." She looked back at Albert. "Albert, we should throw a party. We should have cake. And karaoke!"

Murdoc cocked an eyebrow. "Oh lord, not you too."

"Me too?"

"My lead singer loves karaoke. Actually, the whole band does. It's deafening."

"Ah, well, I _love_ to sing."

"And what terrible musical choices do you make for such a shit activity?"

"I _love_ to sing songs by Madonna."

"Ah, Madge. I've a thing for the old bird."

Cal laughed. "I have a thing for her music. Especially her stuff from the late 80s/early 90s. 'Bedtime Stories' – great album."

"What other music are you into?" Murdoc inquired, purposefully wondering if she had figured out who he was yet. There was a part of him that believed she could be acting polite to keep the pressure off, or that perhaps she hadn't heard of his band at all. The latter would be a first for him.

"Oo, that's a hard one … I'm very eclectic."

"Try me."

"I can do just about anything that isn't country. I love rock music, though." She gestured at her shirt. "I'm not a huge fan of pop but there are some songs I enjoy as guilty pleasures. When I write, I have to listen to soundtrack music, whatever invokes the emotion I'm trying to explain. That's crucial." She paused. "Stupid question since you're in a band but, what about you?"

"Fairly eclectic myself, but I, too, lean more towards rock. My musical influences were Black Sabbath, The Clash … I enjoy the Stones, too." He gave her a look. "Please tell me you've heard of them."

"I have. I wasn't big into The Clash or the Rolling Stones, but I do love me some Ozzy. Do I get any UK-cred for loving Depeche Mode?"

"We don't have 'cred' but if it'll ease your mind, sure." He chuckled. "You seem like the type."

"To …?"

"To love a band like Depeche Mode."

She leaned in closer to him. "What does that mean?"

Challenging her, he leaned in closer, too. They were about an inch apart. "It means I can see you dancing drunk off your rocker to 'Enjoy the Silence' whilst crying and hugging yourself."

Cal rolled her eyes and leaned away. She held her middle finger directly in front of his face.

"Is that your clever response?"

"Yes, it is. Do you see it?" She thrust her hand closer, just beyond his nose. "Do you see that, Niccals? This is what I think about that."

"It's a thought I have often," he chuckled, and he enclosed his hand around hers, lowering them both. "And a gesture most often given to me, so no harm." He gave her a wink and let her hand go. She retracted it slowly, looking at down at it. She sighed.

"What is it?"

"Honestly, I want to dance."

Murdoc laughed. "Bloody hell, you must be pissed."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're so random."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Well … no." His smile waned as he tried to configure how to continue. "Actually, it's quite refreshing."

Cal rested her head on her hand again. "Do you like to dance, Niccals?"

"No, of course not."

"Let me guess, you're the guy in the booth drinking by himself while he complains about the volume of the music and how terrible the dancing is."

"You read me like a book."

"Grumpy old man."

"I'd prefer refined, first-rate connoisseur of good music."

"Or, first-rate prick."

"I haven't had a complaint yet."

Cal glared at him. "I didn't mean it like that."

He smirked. "It's too late to backtrack, now, Cal. What's said is said."

Cal yawned. "What time is it, prick?"

Murdoc pulled out his phone. "Just after eleven."

Cal sat up and stretched. "I hate to do this but, I think I'm going to take off. I can feel the booze weighing me down. The water was my downfall."

"It usually is," replied Murdoc, less than enthusiastic. "You want me to get you a cab?"

She stared at him. "How much longer are you going to be out here?"

"It's hard to tell."

"No, I mean before you and the band moves on? Did you really want to like … I don't know, hang out?"

Murdoc was taken aback by the question. "Oh, well, uh, sure. I mean, we have stuff to do tomorrow, press stuff, but, I mean if you're not busy tomorrow night …"

She shook her head a little too quick. "I'm free whenever."

"That's great."

Cal leaned on the bar, closer to him. "So, you think this time I could actually get your number? For real? You know, not to lead you on or anything, even though you're _totally fuckable_ or whatever that bullshit was you said to me last night."

Murdoc swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. _What are you doing, twat, give the lady your number. No harm._ "Right, of course." He recited his phone number as Cal entered it into her phone. "Text me yours and I'll ring you tomorrow when we're done."

Cal nodded. "Sounds like a plan, man." She stood from the stool and stretched, the tee shirt slipping just above her belly button. Her stomach was flat and Murdoc had to lock his eyes on her face to keep from lowering them. Returning to her relaxed posture, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'd tell you not to do anything too crazy tonight, Niccals, but you're the overlord of threesomes, so anything that could probably happen in this place is probably too tame anyway."

"You'd be surprised at the number of prostitutes that reside in Stoke."

"Well, no glove no love, am I right?" She bumped him with her hip and started for the door, Murdoc spinning around on the stool to follow her with his gaze. She turned to him as she placed a hand on the heavy slab of wood. "If it does happen, though, remember, they make creams!"

Murdoc shook his head. "You're mental, you know that?"

"I told you so," Albert chimed.

"I love you, too, Albert," cooed Cal.

"Shall I call you a cab?" Murdoc called to her.

"I already did." She held up her phone to him. "Just promise you'll call me tomorrow. Ya know, if you to, or whatever." She grinned and pushed the door with her backside, moving out of sight.

Murdoc stared at the door as it closed, then turned back to the bar where Albert cast him a dirty look. "Come off it, mate," he remarked and held up his empty glass. "Be a dear and fetch me another."

Albert's upper lip shook as he huffily fulfilled the request. Murdoc watched, the grin not leaving his satisfied face.


	3. Chapter 3

2D made another tic on the on the piece of scratch paper he kept in his pocket. Russel leaned over his shoulder.

"What're you doing?"

2D glanced at him as he tucked the paper back into his pocket and returned the pencil behind his ear. "Tracking every time Muds looks at his phone."

Russel glanced up and caught sight of Murdoc as he stood near the food table, leaning against the wall with a cup of tea in his left hand, his phone in the right. He took a sip, looked at the stage where Noodle was being interviewed for their one-on-one sessions with a British magazine, and then looked down at the phone again. Russel watched 2D stealthily pull out the paper and pluck the pencil from his head, and add another check mark to the forty or so notations etched onto the sheet.

"I'm afraid to ask but _why_ are you keeping track?"

"He says he ain't into Cal but I know he is. Why else would he look at his phone like that?"

"Boredom, probably. There's nothing to do when you're not being filmed. Unless he's watching porn or some shit like that. It's Muds. Who knows and who cares?"

"I care," remarked 2D firmly. "I think he's checking for Cal."

"D, you need to let up. It's not your business."

2D whirled around on the couch to face him, clinging to the back of the couch as he climbed onto his knees. "But it is, Rus. If there's a chance this could work …"

" _What_ could work?" Russel snapped under his breath. "So what if he likes this chick? So what if

she likes him? Won't change shit, 2D. When have any of Murdoc's female plights _ever_ done anything except cause trouble? Larissa?"

2D shrugged. "She was mental before she met 'im."

"Hattie?"

"She didn't necessarily advertise that she had access to a large amount of assault rifles and tear gas."

"Erica with the straight jacket? Dinah and her twenty-thousand stray cats? Jezebel with her awkward priest fetish?"

2D batted each name away.

Russel narrowed his eyes at 2D. "Don't make me say it."

"There isn't a name you can name that'll break me of my mission." 2D stretched his neck, elongating himself with an air of challenge at Russel. "I'm a real Carmen Sandiego of sorts, _committed_."

"Paula."

2D's black eyes became slits on his face, his lower lip protruding as he tried to maintain his composure.

"You made me, D. But you can't say _she_ had anything wrong with her until she met Muds."

2D reeled around on the couch, plopping back down on his backside, arms crossed. Russel came around and sat next to him.

"Don't pout."

"I didn't wanna think about that – about _her_."

"2D, we already talked about this. You can't be positive all the damn time and then fall apart once reality smacks you upside the head." He smacked 2D playfully on the back of the head, the singer gasping. "That's life. It's a bitch. Don't be one."

"Real decent advice, Rus," 2D huffed, rubbing the back of his head.

"Don't get caught up in Muds' bullshit. You have more important things to focus on, like when reality's gonna smack you upside the head again." He paused. "Carmen Sandiego? Carmen Sandiego was a thief, 2D. Don't you mean you're like an Ethan Hawke, failing at your Mission: Impossible?"

"No, I meant Carmen Sandiego. I'm a thief of love, Rus, looming in the dark, ready to stow my love diamonds into Muds so that somehow they'll latch on and grow into something real for 'im. I'll plant 'em so deep he'll never even know I was there."

Russel stared at him for a moment, his left eye twitching as he tried to make sense of the man's logic. Ultimately, he understood but the phrasing was absolutely baffling. "… Maybe you should take a note from the movies and never reveal that plan to anyone. _Anyone_."

"I 'ad no intention, but you backed me into a corner, Rus. A depressing, Paula-induced corner."

"I still think you should reconsider."

"You don't like swimming much, eh, Rus?"

Russel glared at him. "Fuck you, man."

"You don't but you dove in anyway, before all that happened on Plastic Beach. I've 'ad many opportunities to dive but 'aven't cos I've been scared. And while I know he'll never admit it, Muds is too. He needs help, Rus. He needs someone to dive off the deep end with him, hold his hand, like I wish I'd 'ad."

"He'll just as soon use your drowned-ass as a floatation device."

"I won't let 'im know. He'll think it's all him."

"You're gonna piss him off even more when he realizes it was you meddlin' the whole time – and I won't save you because I already told you not to."

"Remember, Rus, I'm Carmen Sandiego. I won't ever be found out."

Russel rubbed his temples. It was a lost cause. "Fine, 2D. Just make sure you add in your will that I get your vinyl collection."

"I was going to give you my geodes."

"Why the fuck would I want those?"

"Cos you'd take care of 'em." 2D quickly shot a glance back at Murdoc, who was finishing the last of his tea. His phone was gone. 2D's smile waned. "Rus, how'd you like to go to Stoke tonight?"

"I'd hate it, actually. Nobody of a decent nature goes to that shithole."

"I say we penetrate it with our good intentions," 2D countered. "She's gonna be there, Rus, and we're running out of time."

" _I have no time to run out, 2D_. This whole business is all _you_ and only _you_. Not even the prick you're trying to help is in on it."

"If we all go we can plant the –"

" _I ain't planting shit, Pot_."

2D smiled weakly and then remembered his secret weapon – _the big gun!_ "They actually have a delightful Indian restaurant a meager walk away from the pub."

Russel glared at him and then crossed his massive arms over his chest. "Damn you, D. You know my weakness for an authentic masala."

2D beamed. "I hear the masala comes with the hugest chunks of paneer you've ever seen."

Russel considered this for a moment. It had been a while since they'd all gone out for a meal – all of them, and Indian was never the first selection. Finally, he sighed. "Alright, D. I'll come with you to Stoke. But understand this," he stuck his large pointer finger in 2D's chest, "I'm only going for the food."

"Me too," exclaimed 2D. "Well, mostly. Like 85%."

On the other side of the room, Murdoc caught sight of Russel jabbing his finger into 2D's chest. He smirked, left his empty tea cup on the table and headed towards them, intrigued by Russel's blatant irritation with 2D. "What's the bloody git done this time?" he mused.

Both Russel and 2D quieted as Murdoc approached. If he hadn't already been so close to the couch, he would have turned and walked away by how stiff the two became, alarming Murdoc that they had to be speaking about him. His stomach tightened as he played it off, plopping down onto the couch on Russel's other side, throwing his arms out along back of the couch and its arm, and crossed his legs at his ankles.

"Boring as shit, eh?" he commented, looking around the stage. "There wasn't even anything interesting on PornHub to take the edge off." He chuckled and nudged Russel with his elbow.

"It's only boring for you when they ain't talking to you."

"Come now, Rus, you know the feeling. Of course," he eyed them both, "you two seem to be having quite the laugh over here."

"What's it to you, Muds?" chimed 2D, glancing nervously at Russel.

Murdoc leaned forward on the couch to see around Russel and narrowed his eyes at 2D, his lips curled. "I saw Rus giving you a hard time and figured it was the opportune moment to rid me of this boredom."

2D shifted his eyes between Russel and Murdoc so fast they could have spun around inside his head. "Well, I, uh … er, I was on Yelp and telling Russel where we should have supper after this."

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "How you're not as big as Russel with the appetite you have …"

"Pump those heels, you decrepit old demon," warned Russel. He patted his belly. "This is the result of a gourmet palate. Besides, girls don't want some weak-ass twig trying to defend them, blue-haired _or_ green-skinned."

"I'm sure that works wonders in the bedroom, too. Keeps things interesting and limber."

Russel grimaced down at Murdoc, baring his teeth. "This ain't no episode of Full House, Muds, but I'll beat your scrawny ass so fast it'll come around again like a rerun. You don't need a face to play bass."

Murdoc sat back against the couch coolly, his chin upturned.

"My doctor says a I've a spectacular thyroid. Overactive, I believe. Does wonders on the waistline." 2D patted his stomach. "Anyway, we're going to this Indian place off Kingsway."

Murdoc furrowed his eyebrows. "Kingsway?"

2D nodded.

"In the Potteries?"

Again, 2D nodded. "That way if you feel so inclined _not_ to come, you can head to The Pig."

"There's a literal abundance of Indian food places in Manchester, you git."

"Yeah, but this one is open until midnight, so we can hang out. Besides, we may grab a drink, too."

Murdoc blinked, trying to understand his words. "What makes you think I'm even going to Stoke tonight?" he snapped.

"What makes you think I made these plans cos you may or may not be going to Stoke?"

"Because only an idiot would drive all the way out to Stoke for Indian food he can have a literal block away!"

"They do have high ratings on Yelp," Russel interjected, thumbing over his phone screen. "And D was right, the paneer looks massive." Russel looked at Murdoc. "I'm a sucker for an authentic masala."

"How do you know the place down the street isn't authentic?"

"Why're you fighting this, Muds?" 2D questioned. "We want to try something different. Aside from me, the gang's never been to Stoke."

"Why the fuck start visiting now? It's an utter shithole. Worse than before."

"What're you hiding over there?" Russel raised an eyebrow, to which 2D's lips became a wide line on his face, threatening to smile.

Murdoc's eyes widened. " _Hiding?_ Who said anything about hiding anything?"

"I want masala, man. I want _this_ paneer masala." Russel pressed his finger onto his phone screen. "I've already been talked into this and I'm not backing down. Russel Hobbs doesn't back down from what he wants, and goddammit I want _this_ paneer masala."

The three of them stared intensely at one another before they all realized Noodle was standing in front of the couch staring down at them. Slowly, their heads turned as she waited, hands on her hips, looking to each of them from behind her large, triangular glasses.

"We've really resorted to fighting over Indian food now?"

"Don't seem so surprised, love. Look at who you're dealing with." Murdoc tipped his head in Russel and 2D's direction. "It's the bloody daft leading the hungry over here."

"With commentary provided by the king of Moodsville."

Murdoc crossed his arms. "Can't you for once be on _my_ side, Noodle?"

She wedged herself between Russel and Murdoc, Murdoc shifting against the arm of the couch to accommodate her. "Oh, I will, one day Muds, when you give me a solid reason to. But for now, smile!"

She turned her head and threw out her arms, her mouth hanging open. The guys turned and saw the cameraman from the magazine with his large lens on them. The flashes started. Murdoc was caught off guard, but relaxed as the clicking started. Noodle and 2D changed various positions, Russel crossing and uncrossing his arms, finally securing 2D in a headlock. Noodle turned sideways and threw a leg up, leaning back across Murdoc's lap. He looked down at her, she up at him. She smiled and placed the tip of her finger to the end of his nose. For a moment, everything about the previous Indian food argument vanished, and Murdoc stared down at the ten-year-old child he told himself he could never get too attached to because he wasn't meant to be a father; he needed a guitarist, not a mouth to feed, but that grin, which had somehow become goofier the older Noodle became, reminded him that those initial feelings had changed as he watched her grow. He didn't read her bedtime stories with Russel and 2D, but he did stand near the door, arms crossed, a glower on his face, trying his best to seem uninterested and yet able to recall every story they shared with her. His favorites came from Frog and Toad. He also never bought her clothes but passed down his worn band tees to her, which made him smile whenever she wore them to bed – sizes too big for her. He hadn't been the most patient of mentors but inwardly felt the familiar swell of pride whenever she produced an original guitar riff or improved upon a piece of his music. And now, as she smiled up at him, obviously posing for a picture for the magazine, Murdoc couldn't help the tiniest of smiles that graced his chin.

"There you are," she said quietly. "You're going to come out with us, Rōjin." It wasn't a question but a request.

Murdoc sighed as she sat up and gripped both Russel and Murdoc around their necks, pulling them in close. 2D immediately sprawled out along the entire couch over them, his lengthy limbs flailing playfully as the photographer took the last few shots.

"What's the plan?" Noodle inquired as the clicking continued.

"Indian food in Stoke," replied 2D. "Drinks at the pub. In whichever order is preferred."

Murdoc grumbled. Noodle's arm tightened around his neck. He clasped her arm, gritting his teeth.

"Sounds like you've got this all figured out, Stu," chimed Noodle. "I love it."

The photographer stood and nodded to the band. "Looks great, guys. Genuine moment, indeed."

Noodle turned to them on the couch. "Let's stop at the hotel and get changed. I want to be fun tonight, vibrant. I feel vibrant."

"I feel vibrant too! Especially in my stomach!" 2D jumped up. He quickly looked to Murdoc, who glared up at him. "But I can go for a drink first."

"Do as you wish," said Murdoc, waving a hand at him. "It's of no consequence to me."

Noodle stood and turned to Murdoc. "You ought to wear your button down. The short-sleeved one with the cute bat pin."

Murdoc glanced down at his front. "Why should I change? I look fine."

Noodle took his hands and pulled him, Murdoc having to stand to assist her with his dead weight. "There's no point in looking depressed tonight, Rōjin! There's a vibrant energy here and I think we should hone in on it."

"Would it kill you to wear a little color tonight? If so, I've got a bag of tie dye I'd pay to watch you die in." Russel winked at Murdoc.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, fine," Murdoc growled. " _Not_ the tie dye, I'll do the bloody button-down."

Noodle beamed up at him. "Ah, could this night get any better?"

"Of course not, you're going to ruddy Stoke-on-Trent. It's bound to get significantly worse," huffed Murdoc, sulking towards the exit as he dug in his pocket for his cigarettes. Behind him, 2D grinned ear to ear at Russel and Noodle. Russel rolled his eyes at him, but Noodle gave him a small smile. As they followed Murdoc, Noodle moved closer to 2D.

"Don't get your hopes up," she whispered to him. "But take joy in the small victory here."

"Oh, I am," replied 2D quietly. "I really am."

* * *

Murdoc tapped his foot anxiously as the cab neared The Pig. 2D sat in the front seat, chatting away the driver who was very pointedly trying to ignore him, Noodle chiming in from behind the passenger seat, while Russel sat between she and Murdoc watching the passing streetlights as the night darkened. Every time Murdoc's phone screen lit up, Murdoc noticed the car would get quiet momentarily before the chatter resumed. And every time his phone screen lit up, Murdoc's chest tightened. He read and reread the text conversation as covertly as the small cab would allow.

'Hey Cal – gonna be there in an hour if you're still interested.'

'Interested? In drinking? Who the fuck you think this is?'

'An alcoholic, clearly. Side note, won't be alone. Acquired bandmates.'

'Hey now, sounds like a party. I love parties. See you soon!'

He hadn't responded after that, but he continually read _see you soon_ , focusing on the _you_ aspect. He'd told her he wasn't coming alone, hoping she'd get scared and call it off. Of course, she hadn't, to his relief. _Am I relieved or not?_ Nervousness overwhelmed him. His palms were sweaty. _Am I foolish, or am I wise?_ He ran a hand over his face.

"You okay, Muds?" came the low rumble of Russel's voice.

"What – yeah – me?" Murdoc glanced at him, his cell phone nearly slipping from his hand. He pierced at the back and the screen with his nails, clinging to it so that no one would see the texts. "I mean, yeah, why?" He looked at them. 2D was smiling his stupid grin, turned around his seat so that he could face him. Russel stared at him in suspicion, while Noodle gave him a curious glance. The panic that coursed through his muscles finally overcame him, and Murdoc exhaled in exasperation.

" _I'm absolutely fine I just need a goddamn drink is that so hard to comprehend and there'll probably be a girl there but she's just there to drink so stop giving me these stupid looks!_ "

2D, Noodle and Russel looked between themselves, their expressions unreadable.

"What kind of sides come with that masala, you think?" Russel suddenly asked 2D.

2D pulled out his phone. "I'm pretty sure the menu said jasmine rice, but I may order another plate of masala as my side. Maybe a Mutter Paneer. And naan. Loads of naan."

"I haven't had garlic naan in _ages!_ " cooed Noodle, to which Russel nodded in excitement.

Their conversation continued but the words became an incomprehensive din within the car as Murdoc watched their mouths move. Time slowed and he could hear every cell within his body vibrating, friction igniting heat along his skin, buzzing like a swarm of a trillion microscopic bees maintaining his existence. _I need a fucking drink_. Off to his right, Noodle's laughter flooded his ears, her neon pink and yellow nail polish blinding him. 2D donned neon blue nail polish on his ring and pinky fingers, and Russel's bright yellow tee glowed with the strength of the sun beneath the brown bomber jacket he wore over it. On his own slender frame, Murdoc wore the button-down which was a deep purple with black trim, his gold inverted down cross hanging over the unbuttoned collar. He refused to wear anything but black fitted jeans and a pair of combat boots with the button down, but the purple on his torso still managed to clash desperately against the ugly grey backdrop of the Potteries, and he immediately knew what he was. _I'm foolish._ That's it – he was willing to risk injury. He wouldn't die from jumping out of a moving vehicle at 64 kph, right? _Fuck it, I'll simply die._ His hand gripped the door handle and just before he internally chided himself for not opening it fast enough, 2D's voice brought his existence back to real-time.

"It's a quaint place, The Pig."

"Don't know why you city types would come here," remarked the driver as he pulled in front of the forlorn entrance of the pub. "You won't find any parties."

"We're the party," said Noodle, and she handed him some cash.

"Thanks!" 2D hopped out of the cab and opened the door, assisting Noodle out while Russel trailed. 2D leaned into the backseat, grinning at Murdoc. "Come along, Muds."

Murdoc stared at the door behind 2D's shaggy blue hair. "Eh, you three get on."

"You have to come, Murdoc," replied 2D, a hint of worry in his tone. "You promised Noodle."

Murdoc snapped, "I never said I wasn't coming, twat, I just need a moment is all. Jesus fucking Christ."

2D's smile became a straight line across his face. "Fine." He shut the door and beckoned Noodle and Russel into the pub.

Murdoc watched them go, the hum of the engine vibrating the seat under him. "I could have just stayed at the room with late night TV," he muttered, sliding himself reluctantly across the backseat.

"I hear ya, mate. These kids are bloody mental these days," said the driver.

Murdoc shot him a glare through the rearview mirror. "Piss off, old man," he huffed and slammed the cab door shut behind him. The cab pulled away from the curb in a hurry, Murdoc throwing up his middle finger after it. Chuckling to himself, he walked to the shrubbery near the entrance of The Pig and pulled out a cigarette. Searching his pocket for his lighter, he felt a distinct pain shoot up his side as something pierced at him.

"Gimme all your cash, bitch."

The cigarette hanging off his lower lip, the anxiety of his childhood manifested within him, causing him to tighten up until a very foreign laugh sounded. Whipping around, Cal stood there laughing, her hand in a 'L' shape, pretending to be a gun.

"Are you fucking mad?" Murdoc hissed. "I could've hurt you."

Cal continued to laugh, holding up her hand to him to in a rueful manner. "Oh, Niccals, I had you!"

"You almost had a fist to the face."

"And you, a knee to the nuts." She took hold of his forearms to steady herself. "I'd kill to see your gangster side come out!"

"Are you already pissed?" he inquired, less than enthused.

Wiping her eyes, Cal shook her head. "Not yet," she chuckled. "Would it kill you to smile at least? It was pretty funny."

"I already completed my smile quota for today." Murdoc lit up the cigarette.

Cal placed her hands on her hips. "Do you need a tampon? C'mon, let's have a little fun tonight."

Murdoc was both surprised and amused by her wit. He chuckled, taking a long drag off the cigarette. "You're a mess, you know that?"

"I already told you that, Niccals." She gave him a wink. She touched his collar and looked him up and down. "I like this. It's a nice color on you."

He quickly plucked the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it, smashing it under his boot. The heat formed in his cheeks. "Shall we?"

"Let's shall!" Cal walked ahead of him, pushing open the door with much enthusiasm. Murdoc lingered, took a deep breath and then followed. He could already hear 2D.

 _Sweet Satan, I'm in Hell._

Under the hazy lamplight, Murdoc saw that Cal was wearing a light blue shade of skinny jeans, the hem rolled up just above the ankle. On her feet were a pair of black slip-on Vans, no socks. Tracing the length of her legs over her the curve of her ass, Murdoc caught the black tank top hanging out from under the jean vest she wore, her arms long and toned. On her left arm was a colorful display of flora and skulls tattooed into her tanned skin, decorating around the entirety of her bicep and shoulder. Her hair hung down the length of her back in chocolate waves. She whipped around, casting a smile at him as she ushered him to the bar. He heard 2D's voice over the general dullness of the room but he couldn't look away for whatever reason. His body was a tumultuous force of fear and curiosity, and it bothered him greatly. It'd been ages – he couldn't even recall at the moment – since he'd experienced any kind of emotion similar to this. He hated it.

"Albert!" Cal knocked on the bar top. "We need booze!"

"Yeah, yeah, your majesty, hold onto your knickers," grumbled Albert.

Murdoc leaned against the bar, facing Cal, when he caught his group sitting around one of the tables, all with drinks in their hands – all staring at him. He grimaced at their curiosity, 2D's grin taking up the majority of his face. Murdoc rolled his eyes and swiftly motioned at them, to which 2D nearly hopped over the table to him.

"Eh, Cal." Murdoc touched her elbow, and Cal glanced down at his hand. "I suppose you should meet my band."

Smiling, she turned. Before her loomed 2D, and she craned her neck back to meet his gaze. "Hi!" she greeted, extending her hand out to him. Promptly, he took her around the shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"How lovely to meet you, Cal! I'm 2D."

"'2D,'" Cal repeated. "That's interesting."

"Oh, so here's how I came to get the nickname," started 2D, "You see, it was many years ago when I worked –"

"It's a _long_ story," Murdoc interjected. "His given name is Stu, but he goes by 2D."

"I'm Noodle," said Noodle and she shook Cal's hand with energetic fervor.

"Nice to meet you – Cal." Cal turned to Russel and shook his hand.

"Russel Hobbs," he greeted. "Why're you hanging around with this hobgoblin?"

Cal chuckled. "Is there anything else to do in this town?" She gave Murdoc a wink and smacked his arm, to which he rolled his eyes. "What's everyone having? I'll get this round."

"Oh, and I suppose you brought actual money this time, did ya?" barked Albert.

"Only for you, bestie. We definitely need some whiskey." Cal turned back to the others. "What's your poison?"

"I'll take a Strongbow," Noodle replied.

"A Stella for me, please," said 2D.

"Just a Budweiser and a glass of water with a wedge of lemon." Russel eyed Albert. "The lemon is necessary."

"Cal, we grabbed a table over here if you'd join us." Noodle took hold of Cal's elbow, 2D on her other side, and they moved towards the table.

Murdoc watched them, lingering at the bar. Russel remained beside him.

"You met her here?" Russel asked quietly, watching Albert set their glasses onto a dusty tray.

Murdoc nodded. "Right where you're standing. Granted, she was particularly drunk."

"And yet sober she's still down to hang."

"It's a conundrum, really."

"It is, Muds." Russel placed his hand on Murdoc's shoulder and gave it a less than friendly squeeze. "None of this is my business and I'd prefer if it stay that way, but don't think I condone any tomfoolery. You're gonna be you, and I've come to terms with that, but for once in your bitter old life, be honest with all parties. If this is just a fuck, make sure she understands that."

Murdoc ripped his shoulder away from Russel's grip. "You're right, Hobbs, it's not your bloody business. And for the record, that's _not_ what this is. _This_ is nothing. Just some woman having a drink with us. She leaves Monday and that's that. Nothing more."

"Nothing more, huh?" Russel chuckled with malice. "You can't think I'm that stupid. A gorgeous young woman wants to hang out with _you_ and you think she don't have an angle? Or is sincere?"

"She'd be a fool to be sincere," Murdoc retorted. "And fooled if it's the former."

"American women can be crafty."

"I've had plenty of 'em to know that, Rus. Don't think me blind."

"Oh, you're blind, Muds. That I can say with confidence."

Murdoc gritted his teeth as he watched Russel grab the tray. At the table, 2D, Noodle and Cal laughed, startling the leathery couple in the back corner of the pub. "You know, Rus, if you meant only to demean my existence tonight I'd rather have remained at the hotel to get blackout drunk over a plethora of our recent interviews with your soapbox dogma."

Russel curled his lips. "Don't dish it if you can't hang. And while it may come off as demeaning, you know I'm always upfront with you. You either take it and move on, or you sulk. I'm not here to hold your hand. You made it very clear from the beginning you don't want your hand held, and I ain't gonna waste my time. But I will say this: whatever you do, do it all the way or not at all. Nobody wants their time wasted. She deserves that, at the very least. We're used to being fucked in the ass by your shenanigans. Don't pull her through the ringer, too."

Murdoc watched him take the tray of drinks to the table, where 2D threw his arms up and hollered, grabbing his Stella Artois. The excitement within Murdoc waned, and he leaned on the bar top on his elbows, fumbling for a cigarette. Lighting it, he inhaled, the warmth filling his lungs, calming the jittery aftermath of the roller coaster of emotions coursing through him. _Fuck Russel_. He picked at the wood on the bar top, ignoring the mopping motion of Albert a few feet away and the distinct life the table behind him forced throughout the otherwise dead space. It was no surprise he'd lost Cal to them. They were nothing like him, and while she was a kindred spirit in a sense, she was much better than he. In fact, in a strange way, he realized it would only be a matter of time before she'd have eyes for 2D and then Murdoc would probably never speak to her again. He sighed. What a stupid thing to think – _bloody childish._ Who cared if she did fall for 2D? 2D was funny and kindhearted and passionate about his work. They had more in common due to age alone. Cal wanted to dance, and 2D loved to dance. She loved karaoke and so did 2D. She was loud and funny, and so was 2D.

Murdoc smirked to himself, etching an X into the bar top mindlessly. It felt good to dig into something seemingly stronger, but the marking was evident in the wood. _What the fuck does it matter, tosser? This is what you wanted – nothing more_.

A hand on the small of his back alerted him, and he blew out smoke at the bar, ready to let Noodle know he was coming. When he turned, to his surprise, Cal stood next to him, leaning on the bar. She was close, their hips barely an inch apart. She moved her hand around his side, finally drawing it away to rest on the edge of the bar. She smirked up at him and he could see the whiskey in her dark eyes.

"You okay, Niccals?"

He nodded, cradling the cigarette between two fingers. "Didn't want to smoke you lot out."

"2D's smoking over there. This entire place reeks of lung cancer."

Murdoc chuckled. "Sounds about right."

She held up a glass of whiskey to him. "I saved one for you."

Murdoc took it, staring into the amber liquor.

"You gonna come sit with me or not, Aloof Bassist?"

"If you insist." Murdoc downed the liquid and set the empty glass in her hand. "Charity Case."

Her stare lingered on him as he made his way to the table. It was stupid, she knew, but she really wanted to grab him around the beltloop and hold him there a little longer, try to make him smile. Something was off about him tonight, but she maintained her cool. It's not like she expected anything from him at all; he liked whiskey, she tolerated it because this stupid country didn't believe in good booze, but what she really wanted was to hear Murdoc speak, to hear about his witty, nihilistic views and have him look at her with those black eyes, coupled with that sinister grin across his defined chin. _You're so stupid_ , she chided herself, but still she watched him as he pulled up a seat next to 2D, taking the whiskey bottle from the table and filled the glass she'd been drinking from.

They were an interesting group, each one entirely different from the next. She wondered how four people like them came together in the first place, even lived together alongside working together. She saw Murdoc shove 2D, the younger man spilling some of his beer on the table, Murdoc and Russel chuckling. 2D offered them a wide smile, his mouth open. He was a fun drunk, she knew, because of how silly he was sober. But as she decided to walk back to the table, she slowed herself down, remembering that the fun she'd have tonight would come with her leaving the day after tomorrow, and whatever did happen, the goodbyes were inevitable. Her smile waned. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she reminded herself that nothing beyond this night was promised and that living for the end was idiotic. So what if Monday brought her home? She was still here today, and today is where her mind had to remain.

Cal turned back to the bar. "Albert, I need a shot of tequila."

"You're really going to make me dig the tequila out, aren't you?" huffed Albert.

"Tequila?" chimed 2D from the table. "Cal, are you ordering tequila shots? Oh please, you must!"

"I'm not dragging your carcass to the hotel tonight," came Murdoc.

"The name of the game is to not be the sober one tonight, Muds."

"You're on, Faceache. I can't promise you won't end up in a ditch though – and trust me, the options are endless 'round 'ere."

Cal smiled. Albert handed her a tray of shot glasses and a dusty bottle of tequila. Taking a deep breath, she faced the table and walked the tequila to them.

They remained at The Pig for the next couple of hours, drinking between general conversation, until Noodle finally raised a hand and tapped out. 2D and Murdoc booed her, filling the pub with their displeasure.

"What about the masala? The paneer?"

"She's right!" Russel added. "I can't be too fucked up when we haven't even gotten to the good part yet."

2D turned to Cal. "Come with us, Cal! We're off to have Indian food!"

"Indian food? I feel like I'm betraying my roots by having Indian food post tequila shots."

"You must have something to honk up later. What better thing than delicious Indian food?"

As the rest of them gathered their belongings, Murdoc leaned towards Cal.

"Don't feel pressured," he whispered, his breath warm on her skin.

"I don't." She paused, licked her lips and looked at him. "I don't want to intrude, either."

"Intrude? _They_ intruded on _us_."

Cal crossed her arms on the table. "Oh, so this was an _us_ thing?"

Murdoc shrugged, his limbs heavy. "I'm fine with you coming or not, but I'm finer if you come."

Cal laughed. "What a confusingly perverted statement. Are you drunk, Mr. Niccals?"

Murdoc narrowed his eyes as he stared at her and clumsily touched the tip of her nose with his finger. "You got freckles, ya know tha'?"

Cal wrapped her hand around his and placed it on the table. "You're so fucking blitzed, man."

"This is your fault, ya know? The fault of your ancestors … ruddy tequila."

"Who said sí to cinco tequila shots?"

"I paced them with the whiskey."

She sniggered, feeling weighed down herself. She knew she hadn't had that much tequila, but it was enough to make everything she did feel like an effort. Food was a good idea but she was still hesitant. She wasn't sure why. She had no intention of ending the night yet.

Murdoc leaned into her again and wrapped his slender fingers around one of her arms. "Have I frightened you away yet?" He cast a grin at her and rested his hand on his palm. She considered his words. "You're not drunk enough tonight."

"Drunk enough for what?"

"For that fiery spontaneity you preach so desperately about."

"I don't want to intrude."

"You speak of intruding as though someone's suggested that's the case. You're formally invited, love – signed, sealed, and delivered by yours truly." He pressed his hands into his chest. "You'd so willingly leave old Murdoc to the wolves? I thought we were a team, Cal."

Now it was Cal's turn to roll her eyes. "Niccals, you're throwing some low blows tonight."

He scooted closer to her, his face near hers. "Gimme something to work with."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine, motherfucker, I accept your invitation to join you and your friends."

"So someone has balls after all."

"Yeah she does," spat Cal playfully, "and they're bigger than yours, bub." She stood, Murdoc following her gaze as he leaned back to watch her, his chin just beyond her stomach. "Be careful, I'd hate for you to choke on them." She gave him a wink and followed Noodle, 2D and Russel, Murdoc sloppily hurrying after.

* * *

The Indian restaurant was bright and full of occupants conversing with such animation that the group blended in without causing a raucous. They ordered several trays of food, the heated scent of spices and herbs emanating from the table, reminding everyone of just how hungry they were, and they passed each dish around with clumsy enthusiasm. 2D was especially joyous as he inhaled every rich flavor that passed under his nose, his ears pleasured with the earnest enjoyment that surrounded him. He was used to hearing Noodle and Russel laugh, but combined with the crude remarks from a drunken Murdoc and the newly introduced cackling of Cal – _and the fact that Murdoc was actually present!_ – the sounds were sweeter, and he felt at peace. For once, he didn't have to wonder where Murdoc was or dread the oncoming train wreck of an argument. Between the booze and the introduction of a new face, the chatter remained pleasant and inquisitive, and the delicious food filled in the gaps.

2D didn't hear much about Cal outside of her living in California and being a writer, but rather focused on the way she sat forward in her seat, gesticulating with her hands, her eyes wide and the sound of her voice friendly. When she spoke, Murdoc was upright in his seat, staring at the side of her face, sometimes leaned against the table with barely more than the width of an arm between them. When she listened, Murdoc was back against his seat, sometimes with his hands in is lap and other times with an arm draped across the back of her chair. Even though he watched her under heavy eyelids, 2D saw in his face an entrancement he'd never seen before – one he was sure Murdoc would never admit to, either. And sometimes, when Noodle or Russel were doing the talking, 2D caught Cal glance at Murdoc, regardless of the seated position he was in, and the dimples in her cheeks would appear for a moment. 2D waited for one of them to slip a hand over the other's, even if it was accidental. It didn't happen to his observation, but his heart still danced around the inside of his chest, his own eyelids growing heavy the more masala-slathered naan he forced into his mouth, until at last Russel looked down at his watch and announced that it was after one a.m.

"I don't know about y'all but we have that recording studio earlier tomorrow, and I can't oversleep."

"Blimey, we don't have any leftovers," 2D lamented. "I would've loved to enjoy this all over again in the morning."

"Doesn't mean we can't find a spot near the studio tomorrow." Russel turned to Cal. "It was really nice to meet you, even though I question your judgement considering you hang around this asshole."

Cal laughed and nudged Murdoc, startling him. "Thanks Russel. I'm known for my questionable taste."

"You seem like you can hold your own, though."

"Thanks. I do."

Noodle stood and reached across the table, giving Cal's hand a squeeze. "It was a great time, Cal. One of our rarer moments, for sure."

Cal smiled broadly at her. "Definitely a pleasure."

They stood, and 2D walked around the table as Noodle and Russel put their jackets on. He wrapped his arms around Cal and patted the top of her head, slightly unstable from the evening. "Absolutely enchanting. Please keep in contact." He released her and Cal nodded up at him. He then bent towards Murdoc, who was steadying himself against the table. "You've a light, Muds? We'll step outside."

"I'm coming now."

"Take your time," said 2D as Russel and Noodle headed for the exit.

Murdoc dug into his back pocket, nearly stumbling into the table. Cal grabbed his arm, chuckling. Pulling a matchbook from The Pig out of his pocket, he tossed it to 2D, who then hurriedly made his way after Noodle and Russel.

"You okay, Niccals?" Cal asked, tightening her grip on him.

"Meh," he waved her comment away and slowly started forward. "I'm used to it." He held up a finger and adamantly continued, "Not with tequila though. Not in a long while."

Cal laughed again.

"So I suppose you're headed home, eh?"

"I'm going to the hotel first. I leave Monday, remember?"

"S'right, s'right." He nodded. "Oh! Ride with us at least."

"Will we fit in a cab?"

"Sure! We'll just strap 2D to the top."

"You're so evil."

He grinned at her. "You've no idea."

The cold night air hit them both as they stepped out into Stoke, 2D staring up at the sky, puffing on a cigarette. The tail lights of a cab dimmed in the distance, and as Murdoc and Cal approached 2D, he blew out a cloud of smoke.

"There was already one here so they took off." He stuck a thumb out in the direction of the cab. "I wasn't sure what you lot were doing so I waited."

"I'm not too far from your hotel, actually. Let's grab a cab and we'll drop you guys off first."

Murdoc nodded. "What a shit idea," he announced. "The Pig is only a few blocks away."

"You have work tomorrow," Cal reminded him.

"And you, what do you 'ave?" he questioned. "You can't drink without me. I'm your tour guide of Stoke-of-Shit." He held open his arms at the flickering street lamp on the sidewalk, tripping as he did so. 2D caught him.

Cal crossed her arms, amused. "Alright, Greenleaf, what'd you have in mind?"

"You're in luck, Cal. Despite popular belief, Murdoc is quite cultured. He could show you some sights."

Murdoc snapped his head up. "Who believes I'm not?"

"The populous," remarked 2D, patting Murdoc's chest. "S'okay, mate, if I've learned anything from you, it's fuck the populous."

"Ah, my boy, I've taught you much in terms of fucking the populous." Murdoc tousled 2D's hair, chuckled menacingly at up at him. "The importance of the ol' Aussie kiss."

2D's cheeks flushed as he secured an arm around Murdoc. "Probably not a subject to get into with present company."

"By all means, I'm well aware that men are gross," said Cal, glancing down at her phone.

"Oh, fuck that arsehole Ryan! What a fucking stupid name, fucking epidemy of American." Murdoc pushed away from 2D and stumbled to Cal, who took hold of his shoulders.

"Are you falling apart on me, Niccals?"

"No, I simply wanted to tell you that despite all the bullshit of your travels and the disgusting men in your life – present company _willingly_ included – that I'm glad that the wicked universe brought me here to this very slab of concrete upon which we stand, one nation, under God, versus Satan, and the winner is me, Murdoc fucking Niccals!"

Cal burst out laughing as 2D came to her aid in holding up Murdoc, a cab stopping at the curb.

"Fuck, how many Cobras did he have?" she asked as they pulled him towards the car.

Stuffing him into the backseat, 2D stood and shrugged. "I stopped keeping track after five."

Cal's eyes widened. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"I'm fairly certain it's the booze that keeps him alive, kind of like a battery source." He opened the front door for her. "I'll take the backseat. He tends to get a bit handsy when he's this pissed, and I know the safe word."

Cal cocked an eyebrow and slid into the front seat, turning around to watch 2D move in next to Murdoc, who promptly leaned into him, laying along the majority of the seat on his back, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs bent up against the door.

"2D … what's the safe word?"

"2D," he replied, and he turned Murdoc's head towards Cal, Murdoc breathing heavily, his eyes closed. "Ya know, so he doesn't choke on his vomit."

Cal shook her head, chuckling. "It's nice you look out for each other."

"We have to. That's what families do."

His words rang in her ears as the cab took off into the night, the rhythm of Murdoc's breathing, and eventually 2D's, creating a pleasant white noise in the cab.


	4. Chapter 4

The blaring alarm next to his head shocked Murdoc out of a deep sleep, his limbs thrashing against the shackles of the sheets. Launching himself upright, he was sure he was going to have a heart attack and he pressed a hand to his chest, the erratic pounding overcoming his palm. Taking a deep breath, he seized the cell phone and stabbed at the screen, shutting off the alarm, and through hazy eyes noted that it was just past ten a.m. on Sunday morning.

"What the devil …?"

He tossed the phone aside and fell back against his pillow, drawing the sheets up under his chin. Just as he closed his eyes, a bright light hit him in the face. He cringed deeply, squeezing his eyelids tighter together until that familiar greeting came, and Murdoc's blood boiled beneath his skin.

"Rise and shine!"

Throwing the sheets off and bolting upright again, Murdoc launched his boot across the room at 2D, who ducked with ease.

"You fucking pillock, _get out!_ "

2D crossed the room and threw open the curtains, displaying an overcast sky. "I shall, Muds, but I wanted ta make sure you're up."

"Our session isn't until two!"

"But you told Cal you'd meet up with her before," replied 2D, rummaging through Murdoc's exploded suitcase.

"I did not," Murdoc snapped. "I'd remember an idiotic thing like that. And get your hands off my things, Faceache."

2D held up two black shirts, inspecting them against the light coming in from the window. "You said you would last night, even told Cal not to drink without you. And then you passed out in the cab on my lap." He draped a shirt over his arm and returned the other, grabbing a pair of jeans and a pair of boxer briefs. Turning around, 2D laid the outfit on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the fabric on each piece as he made his final inspection. "Do you intend to shower, cos I have some cologne if not. You're on limited time."

Murdoc glared at him and grabbed the phone, searching through his texts. "There's nothing from her about today."

"That's cos _you're_ the one coordinating. Now come, get dressed."

"Piss off, 2Douche, I'm not going. I'm tired and in no mood to not drink."

2D frowned and placed his hands on his hips. "You'd seriously blow this girl off for sleep?"

"I've blown off far less in my life for an extra wink of sleep as it's hard to come by," retorted Murdoc, reaching for the sheets again. "I actually slept wonderfully until _you_ showed up … fucking tequila."

"Muds, please," 2D moved around the bed and sat on the edge, gripping Murdoc's wrist to stop him from pulling up the sheet. "Cal leaves tomorrow and who knows if we'll ever see her again. You should really go."

Murdoc pulled his hand away, narrowing his eyes at 2D. "If you feel so strongly on the matter, why don't _you_ go? You two hit it off nicely last night."

2D winced, his mouth hanging open. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what I said, you twit." Murdoc sighed and ran his hands through his messy hair, groaning deeply. "Oh fuck, what's the point anyway? She leaves tomorrow – why even make an effort? It's not like it's a _thing_."

"I never said it was, but it's nice to meet new people."

"I prefer my hotel room. People are tiring, especially you." Murdoc flicked 2D's nose, causing 2D to sneeze.

Rubbing the tip of his nose with his palm, 2D continued, "Being a hermit isn't always a good thing, Muds."

"When you're surrounded by idiots it's absolutely necessary. Dealing with you proves my point."

2D shook his head and crossed his arms. "You can sling mud all you want, but you can't deny the eyes you were giving 'er last night."

"'Eyes'? What _eyes_? I was drunk, could barely see a damn thing."

"Well, regardless, it would be rude to leave this be. After all, it really was a fun time, and she seems quite lovely." He added quickly, "Like a good friend. You 'aven't made one in a long time."

"You're circling this conversation, moron."

"I'm rerouting it to the beginning to prove my point. No matter your protest, it all comes back to not backing out on your promises for once. It's not rocket science."

"Surely it isn't considering it's coming from you."

2D patted the outfit laid out on the bed. "No, it's literally not rocket science, it's good manners. Get dressed, Muds. It'll be nice to spend a few hours in the city anyway."

"Manchester, Stoke – it's all shit." Murdoc growled, and threw his legs over the side of the bed. 2D watched with a smirk as the older man sulked around the bed and began dressing, turning away only when Murdoc slipped out of his underwear to put on the fresh pair. Upon hearing the clanking of a belt buckle, 2D turned back around. Murdoc stood topless with his inverted cross resting against his chest, pulling the black V-neck shirt over his head. He smoothed out his hair with a hand, grabbed a pair of boots, his wrinkled packet of cigarettes and his wallet. Inwardly, 2D smiled. Murdoc usually needed prompting to "remember" these things – except the cigarettes – and was generally confrontational about it the entire time. His lack of outward aggression and sudden display of (sulky) independence (with the dressing at least) gave 2D hope about the situation. Murdoc came around the bed and plopped down, shoving his feet into his boots. He paused, side glancing at 2D.

"What are you lot gonna do?"

2D shrugged. "Don't know about Noodle or Russ, but I intend to grab some continental breakfast and head back to bed."

"Oh, that's just great," grumbled Murdoc as he stood and seized his jacket, punching his arms into each sleeve. "Make me get up and entertain inhumanly energetic American women while you enjoy breakfast in bed."

"I think you're getting the better end of the bargain, Muds."

"Bargain, _ha_. There's no bargain here, Adolf, you're marching me straight to the train."

"Please don't compare meeting up with Cal to Nazi Germany, Muds, it's inappropriate. Besides, I don't think she'll get it. Americans don't 'ave that sorta humor."

Murdoc rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette from the nearly empty pack. Wedging it behind his ear, he moved towards the door. "Get the fuck out of my room, now, you've made your point."

2D hopped up and trailed Murdoc. "I really hope you two 'ave a good time," he remarked as Murdoc closed the door behind them.

"Oh, I'll make sure of it so that I can give you enough details to fuel your wet dreams for the next month, how about that?"

2D cocked an eyebrow. "I've told you I 'aven't wet the bed since that one night my mum left 'Pinocchio' playing while I fell asleep and 'ad that horrid dream about Monstro." He gritted his teeth and shook his head, exhaling as he expelled the memory again. "Just 'ave fun for once. Be you. For whatever reason, she seems to respond well to that."

"This isn't a _thing_ , 2D, and fuck you." Murdoc pushed past 2D, digging his hands into his jacket pockets. Behind him, 2D watched, a wide smile overcoming his face.

* * *

In her room, Cal glanced at her cell phone as she pulled her hair into a high ponytail, smoothing out her bangs while giving herself a once-over in the mirror. Grabbing her eyeliner pen, she dragged out the tips of black wings from the corner of each eye, trying once more to make them as even as possible before finally giving up. Makeup was stupid, she considered, and tossed the pen into her bag. She donned a light gray flannel button-up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black leggings, and her slip-ons. Shoving her card and driver's license into the breast pocket of the flannel, she picked up her phone and checked it one last time. Nothing – no new texts, missed calls, nada. She sighed, then shrugged, laughing to herself. It's fine, she told herself, she was great company. There was plenty to do before her return to reality, and she didn't need anything – or anyone – to complicate that. Grabbing her journal, she tucked it under her arm and stuck a pen into the top of her ponytail. She'd have plenty of time to explore and write and doodle. She could feel a ping of inspiration coming on, and it was exhilarating.

In the lobby, she unlocked her phone to search for the nearest place to eat that wasn't free shitty hotel food. She knew that eating at the buffet was the financially responsible choice, but the idea of another morning of crepes and toast sounded so unappetizing that it made her cringe. What she really wanted was a hearty breakfast burrito loaded with chorizo, eggs, shredded cheese and some salsa. Guacamole, too, if there was a god, but she figured that was too much to ask of the English. Swiping up on the screen, Cal proceeded forward until she ran directly into a stone-like being she was sure was a column in the hotel. Turning every shade of red, she snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at Murdoc, a smirk creeping over her face.

"You asshole."

"You ran into me," he remarked, returning her smirk with his own. His phone was out, too.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought we had plans today."

Cal laughed. "Oh, by some mystical force, you remembered that in your drunken state. You must have some sort of super powers."

"Hardly," said Murdoc. "I won't lie, 2D jogged my brain a bit with his incessant pestering."

"I don't think you'd be anywhere without 2D. He basically tucked you in last night, made sure you didn't get run over outside The Pig with all your gallivanting and strange pledge of allegiance-type shit. It was hilarious, actually."

Murdoc felt the heat in his cheeks. "Well, the fact is that I dragged my severely hangover arse over here to entertain you some more. How would you like to proceed?"

"First off, _thank you_ for being such a thoughtful human being, Prince Greenleaf. Clearly, I can't survive without your intrusion in my life. Secondly, I'm starving, so where can we get some grub in this city? I'm looking less for pomp and more for substance, like a massive breakfast burrito. And coffee – black coffee. None of these tea bullshit."

"Breakfast burrito, eh? This isn't California, love. I can't promise you a burrito, per se, at least not the type you're looking for." He chuckled, and Cal punched him in the shoulder. "Oy, fuck, you've got a set of knuckles."

"Get on about the food, man."

"Have you had a proper English breakfast?"

"I told you I don't want any pomp, Niccals. And I hardly think you're the kind of man to want pomp either."

"Truer words have never been spoken, but an English breakfast is something I think you'll appreciate in terms of substance. Come, let's walk."

Murdoc led them outside along the busy street, side by side as they made their way beyond the hotel. Many were wrapped up in jackets, despite the peering of the sun between the gray layer of clouds above. They made small talk, Murdoc mostly inquiring about his antics from the night before. Cal laughed at his reactions as he looked between her and the shops that lined the street until he finally stopped and indicated to a store front with the upturning of his chin.

"Here's a spot."

Cal looked at the storefront tucked between the building, its red trim and large windows inviting. "It's cute."

"Cute? Whatever, it's what we're looking for." Murdoc held the door open for her and Cal entered, greeted by a hostess that led them to a small table next to one of the front windows. Sitting down, she ordered a mug of black coffee, while Murdoc asked for a Bloody Mary and a cup of Earl Grey tea.

"It's all about balance," he justified to both the waitress and Cal, though neither of them asked. "While you're here, we're ready to order."

"I haven't even looked at the menu," Cal interjected.

"You wanted substance," he insisted, and Cal gave him a curious stare, resting her chin on her fist as Murdoc ordered them both a "full English," consisting of bacon, bangers, poached eggs, baked beans, and fried tomatoes. He ordered himself a side of toast and asked Cal if she wanted one, too.

"What the hell," she shrugged. "You're already bringing out the whole damn kitchen."

Amused, the waitress left and returned with their drinks before slinking off again. However, Cal noticed that the waitress, a younger woman in her mid-twenties or so, continually came by the table to refill Cal's water and offer Murdoc more tea. She seemed to know him. Cal wanted to say something on the topic but resisted. It was best not to know. The company was nice enough without the added layer of Murdoc's celebrity, if indeed that was what this was.

Cal's eyes widened when their food finally arrived, Murdoc grinning at her with challenge in his eyes.

"I won't fuss if you can't finish it," he remarked, taking his knife and fork, cleanly cutting into one of the sausages. "Honestly, 2D and Russel are the only two I know that can wipe the plate clean and order more."

"Jesus Christ, this is a shit-ton of food," Cal admitted. "I'm going to have to do some serious running when I get home."

"You work out regularly?"

"I try to. I swim a lot. Surf. To balance out the booze intake." She gave him a wink. "Balance, right?"

He nodded and held up his Bloody Mary to her cup of coffee, both clanking their glasses together. The silence settled over them for a bit as they ate, Murdoc inquiring how she liked the food. The waitress came by a few more times, Cal asking Murdoc if they knew each other. Murdoc shrugged, stating that he'd been there once or twice but she wasn't familiar.

"Probably a fan," Cal teased, and Murdoc politely laughed with her, though he wondered how serious she was being. He still wasn't sure what she knew about him, if anything, and decided not to pursue the matter. He was enjoying the simplicity of her company and her witty remarks on how he used silverware for everything.

"This is why you Americans are so barbaric. Flatware was invented for civilized man."

"Sausage doesn't need to be carved. My fingers are perfectly capable." She picked up a piece and dipped it in some yolk, and popped it into her mouth. "Easy peasy."

"Says every slag in the alley."

"What does that mean?"

Murdoc chuckled. "I don't know if it's more fun you not understanding me or when you do. Your clever tongue is most challenging and enjoyable, and yet when you're confused … it's equally so."

"Funny, I don't know if your self-proclaimed charm is intriguing or if I should feel sorry for you."

"Trust me, either way, my ego craves the attention." He mopped up the remaining yolk on his plate his last piece of toast.

"So, what do you have up your sleeves for this morning now that we've been fed to the max?"

"That's kind of on you."

"You're the one with the time limit."

"Yeah, but you're the tourist. What kinds of shitty tourist things do you feel you need to do?"

Cal mulled over the question as she sipped on her coffee. "You know, nothing in particular comes to mind. Are there any points of interest you think I should see?"

"Not really," replied Murdoc, "mostly because I don't care for any of it. However, there's a place we can go that may be of some significance to you."

Cal leaned forward, resting her mug on the table top. "I'm intrigued."

"I bet you are." Murdoc waved the waitress over who promptly hustled with another bag of tea.

"Another cup of tea, Mr. Niccals?"

"Just the bill, please." Murdoc grabbed his wallet as Cal reached for shirt pocket. Murdoc waved his hand at Cal, who shot him a look. "I've got this, Charity Case."

"I can pay for mine at least."

"You can't actually," said Murdoc as handed some bills to the waitress, "because I just did." The waitress beamed down at him and hurried back to the till.

Cal rolled her eyes, shoving her money back into her pocket. "How is it you still manage to be an asshole when you're being nice?"

"It's a gift." Murdoc downed the last of the Bloody Mary and hopped off the stool. "Let's get a move on, shall we? We're going to be on the road for a bit."

Casting a curious glance at him, Cal followed Murdoc outside where they grabbed a cab and headed south. The route was mostly familiar because she'd taken it every day to go to The Pig. For a moment, she thought that's where they were headed, and slight disappointment overcame her until they passed the Stoke exit. She relaxed back into her seat and watched the city pass, Murdoc making commentary every now and again. He chatted casually about points they came across from his childhood, including an old pottery where he fell on a pile of bricks and earned his first medical transport that ended with stitches. There was also the alley where he got into his first fist fight, and another where he'd gotten so drunk he'd put his hand through a glass window, granting him his second round of stitches. Cal giggled at these stories, as unconventional as they sounded for childhood memories, but she appreciated them nonetheless. In a guarded way, Murdoc colored in his outline and Cal was beginning to see more of a picture. He was obviously a troubled youth with no mention of family, except for a brother who introduced him to music. She didn't get much more out of him besides that, and while she wanted to ask him to go deeper, she refrained. He was still a stranger and this was still a very casual, temporary encounter, so there was no point in making it anything more than two people sharing a cab to some unknown destination. Between the weight of the food and the melodic tone in which he spoke, Cal was certain she could fall asleep, though whenever something of interest for him came about, his voice got a little higher, which roused Cal a bit. Excitement was not an emotion she thought possible in him, but after hearing about his first police chase after breaking into a car and his first stint in jail as a teen, Cal saw the flood of his past overcome him, his features animated in a way that didn't seem normal for him. It's not that he romanticized his actions, but there was something in the way in which he explained each memory that brought about a playfulness she didn't realize he had within him.

"I was a terrible youth," he sighed, his mind far away. "Not that the terribleness got any better with age …"

"Are you still stealing cars and getting into fights?"

"Not recently." Murdoc smirked at her, both of them slouched along the backseat, staring out their respective windows at the passing landscape. "I enjoy a good joust at the pub every now and again."

"You're some kind of criminal, Niccals."

"I'm not proud, as such, but I'm not in regret over it, either. It's just the way it all came to be."

"A victim of circumstance, eh?" She turned her head and cocked an eyebrow at him, to which he turned his and chuckled. "What a crock of shit."

He shrugged. "What's done is done." Turning back to the window, Murdoc sat up and tapped her on the shoulder, pointing beyond the glass. "There it is."

Cal leaned towards him, craning her neck to see the sign out the window. It was an exit to Stratford-upon-Avon, and she glanced at him, confused.

"Give it a moment," he assured her, staring down at her. "It's right up your alley."

The cab parked on Hanley Street and Cal's eyes widened when she saw a sign that read The Shakespeare Center along the front of a wide building. Her heart pounded in her chest as Murdoc exited the cab, holding the door open for her. She gripped his hand as he assisted her out, her mouth hanging open as stared at the building in awe. Shakespeare wasn't her favorite author of all time, but to be standing on grounds upon which he'd walked and knowing that before her were parts of his writing genius a short pace away, were special – underscored by the fact that of all the places Murdoc could have taken her on this drive, he chose to take her here. She was both shocked and overcome with excitement.

Gingerly, he let his hand slip out of hers and shoved them into his pockets.

"Look, I don't know much about this place at all – never been, actually," Murdoc admitted, glancing around. "So you lead me. What do you want to do first?"

"What's our time?"

"Don't worry about that. Shall we head to the front and see what the old bastard's got to offer an impotent writer?"

They spent an hour meandering through the main house, Cal reading through the trivia on the plaques that lined their walk, and then headed out the garden where people snapped photos and such. Cal took a seat on stone bench, Murdoc sitting next to her, and pulled out her journal.

"What's that?"

"Just notes and thoughts," she replied, and started jotting down something. Murdoc looked away to be polite. "I figure it necessary to try to write something while I'm at the birthplace of Shakespeare."

"How about, 'Roses are red, violets are blue, there's a pub 'round the corner, I'm at least five drinks overdue'?"

Cal laughed, smacking him on the arm with her journal. "You're such a poet, Niccals."

"It must be the air – it's simply magical," he teased.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up. But we can't stay too long, you need to get back."

Murdoc shook his head and carried on, glancing back at her as she ducked her head down at her journal again. He smiled, noting how quickly she wrote. He hoped she was inspired to some degree. That feeling was a wonderful one, a high he enjoyed so much, and he could tell by the enthusiasm in each flick of her pen that she enjoyed it just as much.

He retreated to The Old Thatch Tavern and took a seat by the window, watching tourists and locals pass as he sipped on a pint of beer. Overhead, the sky grew darker until he noticed rain droplets gathering along the cracks in the sidewalk. After a while, Cal ran past the window, clutching her journal to her chest, and then slipped upon entering the tavern, catching herself on the wooden doorframe. Murdoc laughed and waved her over, noticing the redness forming along her cheeks. She laughed at herself and sat down across from him, smoothing out her bangs.

"Vans have no traction at all in actual weather," she chuckled, and Murdoc slid his pint to her. He motioned for another to a passing waitress.

"Did you write the next great American play?"

"Hardly," she said as another pint was set before Murdoc. "But I got some thoughts down, so I'm happy."

Murdoc nodded and took a sip.

"Murdoc …"

He stared over his glass at her, the sound of his first name foreign to his ears considering she always addressed him by his surname.

"Thank you. This was a very thoughtful trip."

He shrugged, setting his glass down. "It was a no-brainer, really."

"I'm going to have to put out for this, aren't I?"

"Absolutely," he remarked. "And not some bloody tease, either – I gave you Shakespeare, the ruddy diamond of plays written in a language that's as dead as he is. I expect the full Monty."

Cal laughed. "It's going to be clumsy and embarrassing, though."

"Sounds like the definition of 2D's sex life, actually."

"I haven't stripped in ages."

"Come again?"

"I haven't come once yet." She gave him a wink, to which Murdoc chuckled.

"Clever minx, you are." He paused, eying her. "Did you really strip?"

Cal laughed, shaking her head. "Not professionally." She glanced out the window, watching the rain fall in a steady rhythm. "I'm not a huge fan of this weather but the rain is kind of nice. Makes me think."

"About what?"

"About everything. I guess another reason I enjoyed this little outing is because in a strange way it makes me think about my aunt. She was an artist. She lived in Venice, too, when I was younger." She patted her journal. "I write a lot to her in here. I keep a letter she left to me before she died."

"Illness?"

Cal shook her head. "She killed herself a few years ago, downed a bottle of prescription pills. She had issues but goddamn was she an amazing painter and sculptor. Though she didn't dabble much with writing, she would have appreciated the beauty of this place … probably more so the dismal aspect of it. I think she would have loved Stoke-on-Trent."

"At least someone would've."

"I know you don't have the best memories from there but you can't dismiss where you came from. They brought you here to this moment, all the good and the bad. I assume you make music because of it, or it impacts that in some way. That's how I see it, anyway, especially in my own writing. With her death. I hate that she's gone … I really do. Sometimes I get mad at her because of it. She was the only person who understood me and appreciated what I want to do in this world, but … maybe it needed to happen for me to explain my thoughts the way that I do now. How I view life and the world. And maybe with that tragedy my stories will give someone else hope with what they're going through."

"Maybe," replied Murdoc, though he felt terrible for not saying more. He didn't know how to articulate his thoughts on the subject or how Cal could think the way she did about places like Stoke. He couldn't see how anyone could find beauty in the decay of that neighborhood, especially when she hadn't grown up there.

"I have a record, too," she said suddenly, and Murdoc returned his gaze to her. "Not as extensive as yours but I did do some jail time. DUI, after my aunt died. I've always been a fan of drinking because it pisses off my parents and frankly, it's nice to not feel anything sometimes. But after she was gone, I went overboard and nearly ran over some pedestrians along PCH one night after running out on a fight with my dad. I didn't think that incident would change me the way it did but after I realized I was going down a path I knew wasn't good, I accepted the consequences, did my time and sought professional help … not to get sober but to help me cool the fire inside. I get a little scared whenever I'm feeling depressed now because of it, makes me wanna drink. So when this shit went down with my book, and with stupid Ryan, and this ongoing notion that I'm not living up to my best potential with the writing, all I've wanted to do is binge. And maybe I have a little bit but it's not as bad as before. I can't let it get that bad again. I almost lost everything that night. And thankfully, because I got caught, I didn't."

Murdoc didn't say anything. Instead, he tipped his pint towards her and gave her a nod before hiding behind the glass to drink as much of the beer as he could. His mind raced, and he couldn't keep eye contact with her. It was too odd, like trying to stare into an obscure mirror, except her side of the glass presented the happier, desirable ending, one which he'd never witnessed before. It was blinding. He watched Cal glance down at her watch, his muscles suddenly relaxing at the loss of her stare on him.

"We should probably go. You're going to be late."

He nodded, left some cash on the table and walked with her to the door. As she pushed it open, he stopped her, shedding off his jacket.

"It's raining."

Cal smirked. "Is it?"

Murdoc rolled his eyes and helped her into the jacket. It was warm against her arms and torso, and she shoved the journal into it to keep it from getting wet.

"Where should I tell him to go?" asked Murdoc once they were both in the back of a cab.

"My hotel. I'm in the mood to get some more writing done."

On the way back to Manchester, they both kept quiet, again staring out the windows on either door. At one point, Cal began to fall asleep, her head against the window. A small smile crossed Murdoc's face as he watched her eyes fight to remain open, until the vibration in his jean pocket alerted him. Pulling out his phone, he saw a text from 2D across the screen.

'We R starting but take UR time.' Then another: 'Unless UR drunk, in which case don't come.'

Responded Murdoc: 'Wish I was. Be there in 30.'

Thereafter, the cab parked along the curb at Cal's hotel, and Murdoc gently touched her shoulder.

"We're here," he said quietly, and Cal sat upright, blinking in alarm.

"Jesus fucking shit," she gasped, turning to Murdoc, and then laughed. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, and now apparently have Tourette's."

"I had this gnarly dream, man." She ran her hands over her bangs. "It was like I was on this wave face and everyone kept telling me not to surf it, like I was several hundred feet up this mountain of green. But I felt so compelled. I wasn't afraid at all."

"Did you do it?"

She looked at him. "I don't know. You woke me up."

"Would you 'ave?"

"I'd die if I did." She sighed. "It's been a while since I've dreamt about the beach."

"It's probably because you're leaving tomorrow."

The realization washed over Cal like a bucket of ice water. He sat silent next to her, expressionless.

"I forgot." She offered him a small smile. "Stupid, right?"

"It is stupid," he replied, his voice low. "You're not, though."

"Thanks, Niccals. I can always count on you to remind me how stupid I'm not."

Murdoc offered her a curl of his lips. He reached for her shoulder, hesitated, and then awkwardly gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm not good at this, obviously. At all, really. I don't usually hang out with not stupid American girls I find terrorizing the bleak town-folk of shit communities. However, I will say this … I've enjoyed this time. I really 'ave."

Cal placed her hand over his. "You're not in love with me, right Niccals?"

"Thankfully, no. You?"

"No. Though it's really hard not to – you're such a goddamn Romeo."

"I'd like to think we're more like Titus and Tamora. We'd probably end up doing some fucked up shit to one another."

Cal beamed, resting her palms over her chest. " _Titus Andronicus_. You're giving me major lady wood, Niccals. Just the thought of the cannibalism and the torture … you're so romantic." She laughed as Murdoc playfully pushed her shoulder, and she opened the door on her side. "Seriously, you have my number. Maybe one day we'll run into each other again on some drunken escapade in a shithole somewhere." She stepped out of the cab and leaned into the doorframe. "See ya around, asshole."

"Now you're giving me wood." He gave her wink, and she closed the door, retreating into the hotel lobby. As the cab pulled away, Murdoc gave him the address to the studio, and then looked back. She was already gone.

* * *

"Was it worth it?" Russel questioned the moment Murdoc walked into the studio, the band assembled at their respective instruments. One of the studio hands sat on a stool with Murdoc's bass. Murdoc promptly pulled the instrument from the young man's hands and lit up a cigarette.

"'From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,'" he muttered, the cigarette balanced between his lips as he tuned the bass.

"We weren't replacing ya, Muds," remarked 2D behind the keyboard. "He works here."

"I'm not an idiot, 2D. I'm irreplaceable."

"That's debatable." Russel crossed his arms over his chest.

"Can we get a move on, now, I'm here," snapped Murdoc, strumming the bass furiously. "And for your bloody information, this one –" he pointed angrily at 2D, "told me to take my time."

"Are you drunk?" Russel asked.

"No!"

"On drugs?"

" _No!_ "

"Sexually satisfied?"

" _For the love of sweet Satan, will you start the fucking song already?!_ My dick is of no importance here."

"Just start the song," commanded Noodle, and Russel slammed a drumstick onto his set, igniting the band in thunderous play, not of an established song but in general release. 2D yelled incoherently into the microphone, digging into the keys with graceful, slender fingers, until lyrics came about. Noodle strangled the neck of her guitar, her knuckles turning white, while Murdoc plucked at his bass with such anger he was sure the strings would break at any moment. The studio staff watched them, confused by the choice of sound and unsure as to whether this was a new direction in which the band was headed. They continued like this for the next hour, only pausing to let 2D use the toilet.

"You must be sober. You've never been this on."

"Fuck you, Rus," spat Murdoc as he set his bass in its stand and pulled his shirt off, using it to wipe his face.

"You both need to cool it," snapped Noodle. "We sound great for once. Let's not spoil it with negativity."

Russel and Murdoc glared at each other as 2D returned to his microphone stand, smiling pleasantly.

"Wow, all, we sound swell!" He adjusted his pants and took the mic between his hands. "Shall we carry on, then?"

"More freestyle or an actual song?" questioned Noodle.

"Let's play a song. 'Feel Good'," chimed Russel, staring directly at Murdoc.

"Are you going to attempt to rap or is your _friend_ available for parlor tricks again?" retorted Murdoc.

"It's either me or him, so let's do this. It ain't about the lyrics, anyway – they're fine. It's us that needs the practice."

They played a variety from their previous albums, carrying on with concentrated enthusiasm until Russel finally broke five of his drumsticks and Noodle spun around into 2D, knocking over his keyboard. Murdoc ceased strumming and turned to find Russel holding up his snapped stick, and Noodle and 2D entangled in wires and machinery.

"What the fuck …?" he started, when suddenly he chuckled maliciously, and Noodle and 2D burst out laughing, Russel following suit.

"Buncha dumbasses," remarked Russel, tossing the drumstick away.

Murdoc set his bass onto its stand and sunk down to the floor, his skin glinting with sweat. The flooring was cool against his back as he rested his head on the wires next to 2D's. The laughter died down as the three of them stared up at the ceiling, Russel resting over the top of his drum set.

"What did you and Cal do today?" asked 2D, breaking the silence.

Murdoc laced his fingers together upon his chest, considering the question. "We smoked some grass and fucked like rabbits in the back of an abandoned car."

"What did you actually do?" Noodle asked.

Murdoc hesitated, exhaling up at the ceiling. "Took her to Stratford to the Shakespeare place. She's into that sorta thing, ya know? Boring as shit, I say. The old fuck had quite the forehead, though."

"That's extremely romantic, Rōjin."

"Bollocks."

"Surprisingly, it is," added Russel.

"Oh _please_."

2D turned on his side, propping his head up on his palm. "If the geode convention came into town, would you take me? I'm into that sorta thing."

Murdoc turned to him, scowling. "The fuck is wrong with you, wanker?"

2D smirked. "It's cos I'm not as pretty as Cal is," he teased.

Noodle and Russel chuckled.

"It's because geodes are stupid and boring, like you. But you do 'ave a point, Cal is much prettier than you."

They all remained quiet, Murdoc becoming self-conscious over his words. He sat up, not looking at any of them, and grabbed his phone. To his surprise, he had a single text message across his screen – from Cal.

"We should probably get some food," commented 2D to the group as he sat up, Noodle following him. They started talking about possible places to have dinner, but Murdoc drowned them out as he unlocked his phone and read the message.

'I have your jacket, asshole.'

A smile overcame Murdoc's face as he replied, 'Couldn't go without seeing me again, could you?'

Came the quick reply: 'You wish. God knows what diseases I've contracted by wearing it.'

'Not if you're wearing clothes.' He added, 'Some clever minx told me they make creams for those.'

Two laughing emojis came in, then, 'I can send it if you're busy. No problem.'

'We should probably take advantage while we're on the same island. Pig?'

'Tonight?'

'Tonight. Gimme an hour.'

He waited. After a minute, her response finally came: "'Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night;/Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die,/Take him and cut him out in little stars,/And he will make the face of heaven so fine/That all the world will be in love with night.'" Murdoc stifled a laugh, covertly glancing back at the group to make sure they hadn't heard, but they carried on about whether pizza or hamburgers would be the better choice for supper, which was starting to get heated.

'You looked that up, didn't you?'

'Yep. I never finished Romeo and Juliet. It was so boring.'

'Too true. See you soon, Cal.'

'Adios, Niccals.'

Murdoc shoved the phone back into his pocket and stood, pulling his shirt over his head. Smoothing his hair into place, he turned to the group, Noodle and 2D still on the floor, Russel now laying behind them.

"Rōjin, what are your thoughts on calzones?"

"Well, they're the pies of the pizza world. Less messy. Efficient when on the go."

2D sprang up. "What a magnificent analogy, Muds! I shall henceforth consider calzones as meaty, cheesy pies … though, not meat pies, cos those are separate entirely. Actually, that's quite confusing." He scratched his head while Murdoc stared at him with blatant irritation.

"Are you done?"

2D nodded. "But Russel wants burgers."

"With garlic fries," interjected Russel.

"Try Rudy's off Cotton Street. I believe there's a burger spot 'round the bend there, walking distance."

Noodle stood, crossing her arms over her chest. "I asked you about calzones because I wanted to know if that's what you wanted to eat … but I take it you're not coming with us?"

Murdoc shrugged. "Might get a drink, actually."

"With Cal?" came 2D's enthusiastic question.

"She has my jacket. I need to get it back before she's off."

"Mhmm." Russel sat up, eying Murdoc suspiciously. "I don't care where you run off to, Muds, but you better be here _on time_ tomorrow. Ten a.m. No exceptions."

"But if Cal wants breakfast …" started 2D, but halted when Russel shot him a look.

" _No exceptions_. If I have to drag your alcohol-poisoned, drug-ridden, decrepit-sexed-up bag of bones to this studio to be on time, so help me, I will. We have shows coming up and we have to be on our game. Some of us _want_ to be in this band."

"And you think I don't, Russel?" countered Murdoc. "I'm here, aren't I? I have every intention of being here _tomorrow_ , promptly at ten, _mum_. All I want is my _fucking jacket back tonight_. Has nothing to do with tomorrow."

"Like I said, I don't care what you do, just do it _before_ rehearsal tomorrow."

Murdoc growled and turned on his heel, marching towards the door. He shot Russel one last glare before he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Murdoc glanced around The Pig, wet from the rain which had become heavier along the ride into Stoke. Only the leathery couple glowered at him from their booth in the back and he gave them a curt grin, baring his teeth at them as he walked to the bar. Albert was wiping down the counter and when he saw Murdoc, he frowned, then looked around.

"She gone?" he questioned, reaching for a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

"Who?" Murdoc grabbed a stool and an ashtray, and promptly lit up a cigarette. He took a drag and exhaled, creating a cloud between him and Albert.

"Cal, that American she-devil!"

"Boisterous, yes. Borderline-drunk, definitely. She-devil – _no_. If you're afraid of the devil, you're looking at 'im."

"Bah, you're biased," Albert waved the comment away, setting the bottle in front of Murdoc. "She's a nuisance."

"Admit it, she's been the liveliest thing in this wretched tomb."

"We prefer to rot in peace, thank you."

"And you will, come tomorrow. Now bugger off, I've some drinking to do." He pointed his fingers at Albert, his cigarette wedged between his index and middle fingers, "And you'll do best to shut your trap about her, you miserable wretch."

Albert grew red in the face and stomped off towards the back of the bar. Murdoc chuckled as he poured himself a glass. His body warmed with every sip of the amber liquid, simultaneously calming with each inhale of the cigarette. After some time, a cold draft hit him in the back like water down his spine, but before he could turn, Cal draped his jacket over his shoulders, at which he started to remove it again.

"No, no, it's still raining," he told her, handing it back. "You'll catcha cold."

Cal clutched the jacket against her chest, gave him an eye-roll, and put it back on. "And you won't?"

"I was born of this weather," replied Murdoc, the whiskey settled in his belly. "Your skin's accustomed to sunshine and rainbows."

"When they manage to form beneath the intense layer of smog, yeah." Cal waved to Albert, a large grin across her face. "Bestie, I'm back!"

Murdoc nudged her, pointing to Albert with his drained glass. "He's backstabber, that one. Talking shit about you."

Playing along, Cal's jaw dropped. She put her hands on her hips. "Albert-o-rino, is this true?"

Albert seized a bottle of beer and thrust it onto the bar top in front of her. "Tomorrow can't come soon enough!"

"You know," said Cal pleasantly as she took the bottle, "I may buy property here. This has been my favorite part of my little mental health adventure." She raised her bottle to him and took a long gulp as Albert's upper lip twitched. He grabbed a mop and started cleaning the floor, pushing it in violent rotations.

"You're going to give that one a coronary."

"Apparently I have that effect on Englishmen."

"I'm still tick-tocking along."

"Then I'm not doing my job." Cal gripped the bottle, staring down at it as her smile waned. "So, where are you guys off to after this?"

Murdoc shrugged, swirling the whiskey in his glass. He took another puff off his cigarette. "We're discussing things this week with our managers."

"Plural?"

"Apparently we're that much a of headache."

"I can't see that from the rest of the band …" She nudged him but he didn't look at her, his dark eyes on the glass.

"I imagine we'll do some shows on this side of the world, travel back to the states. Maybe pop by your neck of the woods." He side-glanced her. "But who knows, really?"

"You don't seem like the type to be so willy-nilly about your music."

"I'm not, actually. Dunno, it's been a strange sort of time as of recent. Feels like everything's moving and I'm just …"

"Just what?"

"Hanging on, I suppose."

Cal nodded, observing his absent rotation of the glass. "The mind is a terrible thing sometimes."

He eyed her. "Why d'ya say that?"

"Because it's tiring. Gnaws at you, especially when something's off." She stared back at him. "You seem like something's off."

"I don't mean to be a buzzkill."

"You're not. I mean beyond this," she indicated between them with her beer bottle. "Something deeper, Niccals."

"Cal, you needn't try to look inside what's seated beside you, trust me. There's no point."

"Why?"

"Because in less than twenty-four hours, you won't be on that stool any more, and neither will I."

She placed the bottle to her lips, hesitated, and then took a swallow. "I should be thankful for your honesty."

"You should. It's what you treasure, and that's what makes you unique. I respect that about you." When she didn't look at him, Murdoc turned fully on the stool to face her, took her by the chin and turned her face to his with care. "We can sulk about it or relish these final moments. I didn't get this face when I dropped you off at your hotel earlier."

The corner of her mouth curled. She clasped a hand around his wrist, gently removing his hand. "Don't flatter yourself, Greenleaf, there's more going on in this brain than you think. Of course I want the truth, but I can't deny the way it feels." She released his wrist and he lowered it into his lap. "You're right – why sulk about the inevitable? Might as well live as long as we can, right?"

"That's the ticket, love," said Murdoc. "Nothing's promised so we can't waste any time. And if tomorrow brings the end of this chapter, let's bold the fucking ink to the end."

Cal leaned closer to him, licked her lips. "What'd you have in mind?"

"You, me, another bottle and the hotel 'round the corner."

Cal slapped the bar top. "You're on, Niccals."

While Cal downed the final bit of whiskey from the bottle, Murdoc commanded Albert to bring out two more and tossed a wad of cash on the bar. Rolling his eyes, Albert fulfilled the request. Murdoc handed a bottle to Cal and linked his arm with hers, pulling her towards the door.

"So long, you cunts!" Murdoc called over his shoulder, flipping off the sparse room.

"Wait!" Cal pulled away from Murdoc and ran back to the bar, hopping over it. Wide-eyed, Albert backed up as Cal threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. "It's been a great time, Albert!"

" _What – the bloody – would you – GET OFF ME!_ "

Cal ran back to Murdoc, who was laughing hysterically.

"Lucky you, mate, the _second_ closest time to a woman you've ever had, besides falling out your mum!"

Roaring, Albert reached under the bar and grabbed a shotgun, cocking it with enraged intensity. "If you twats _ever_ come 'round 'ere again, I'll do you both in and mount your heads on my wall!"

Murdoc wrapped an arm around Cal and ushered them both out, laughing the entire time while Cal blew him one last kiss. Outside, the rain fell steadily, neither of them concerned about it.

"I wouldn't put it past him," chuckled Murdoc. "I'da shot me, too."

"I mean, mounting our heads though … pretty fucking morbid. Creative, definitely."

"Definitely! I think our withered heads would certainly class up the joint."

"I never thought I'd meet a more tightly-wound man beyond my dad," said Cal, playfully impressed. "Jesus, the fucking diamonds up that guy's ass."

They carried on down the street, the neighborhood dark and the businesses in the area mostly condemned, except for a few rundown cafes and an overabundance of liquor stores. Turning the corner, Murdoc stopped them before the hotel. He beamed, the rain running over his face as he stared up at its dilapidated exterior.

"Are you ready for the ride of your life?" he asked, fixated on the building.

"I've never done this before."

"Honored to be the one to pop your cherry, love. Let's go."

* * *

A couple hours later, Cal dropped onto the tattered cushion, breathing heavily. Her body was sore, and she could feel the sweat along her skin despite the rain, but staring out at the room and letting the pleasant plucks of the guitar calm her nerves as her cell phone played "Bela Lugosi's Dead," she settled back against the weathered fabric that clung to the remaining wooden structure that had once been a couch. Murdoc moved an arm behind her head, and she leaned into him as he smoked next to her, also focused on the room.

"You did well," he said quietly.

"You too. I don't think I've ever worked this hard in my life."

He chuckled. "It's been a long time since I've done something like this. I'm glad we got to share this moment." He put the cigarette out on the wood of the arm of the couch and sighed.

"The room is spinning," remarked Cal, her body growing heavier with every breath. "I'm probably going to puke."

Murdoc pointed out at a corner in the room. "Do it there. If I'm remembering correctly, I'm pretty sure I've done shrooms there before, when I was a teen." Cal laughed. "I'm serious. Either shrooms or acid. Can't remember anymore. Many trips ago."

"What else have you done here? Brought any girls back?"

Murdoc thought about this. "Actually, no. You're the first. Most girls expect to have a man take them back to a hotel to 'make love' or whatever. Hippie-dippie shit. I've never had one so inclined to further demolish a building that should really be ashes in this empty lot."

"How long has it been abandoned?"

"Fuck, since I was ten I think. I came here with friends to throw rocks at the windows – there was glass still standing then. Good times. Obviously done drugs here. Tagged. Pissed. Knew a bloke who shit once. And now, watched you further trash this godforsaken rubble. Felt good, though, eh? To grip that piece of wood and knock the shit out of this structure? Lucky find, really. Damn ruddy kids come in waves nowadays without proper appreciation for the craft of releasing pent-up aggression on unassuming abandoned buildings."

"I'm going to throw up."

"Go, go, bless this house. I'm going to have a pee, myself."

They went to opposite sides of the room, clumsily maneuvering over rotted debris and did their business. When they were finished, they made their way back to the couch and sat again, Murdoc picking up his empty whiskey bottle and chucking it across the room at what was left of one of the walls. It smashed, shattering into amber shards that rained down into the rubble.

"There's such a beauty in chaos," said Cal, her voice quiet, as she laid her head against his chest. The whiskey sloshed around in her stomach, making her queasy. She closed her eyes and felt Murdoc's chest expand with every breath he took.

"Tell me more." Hesitantly, he cupped his hand over her shoulder, resting his arm against her back.

"I don't know, I just … I look around at all this and see potential. A million new things. New ideas. A new story." She looked up at him. "Destruction's necessary for growth."

"Do you think that's true for people?"

"In a way, yes. It can only be a transitional point, though. You can't linger. Like this place. You do your time and move on, or you become a permanent part of the rubble … left to 'damn ruddy kids without an appreciation for releasing pent-up aggression on unassuming abandoned buildings.'" She imitated Murdoc's accent as she recounted his words, laughing afterwards.

"You're trying to make me fall in love with you, aren't you, she-devil?"

"It's probably because of the whiskey and Q Lazzarus playing on my phone right now."

"True, true. It's been a while since I've pranced around my bedroom mirror stark naked as I fashion a suitable suit made from the ample parts of the women I've murdered."

"I never took you as a man to prance."

Murdoc shrugged. "When you're in the mood …"

"Now you're just trying to make me fall in love with you, Niccals."

"Perhaps we let each other off this once and not fall in love at all. Complication only makes it worse."

"Agreed. Mostly because if we fucked right now I'd probably puke on you."

"Firstly, I didn't think fucking was on the table. Bloody shame. Secondly, puke and sex don't belong in the same action so I think we've made the right choice here. Trust me, I've tried to make it work – it doesn't."

Cal laughed, squeezing the fabric of Murdoc's shirt in her fist. "This fucking sucks, man. My luck would be meeting some fucking asshole like you right before leaving."

"That's life, babe. One day when you're older you'll understand." Cal smacked him on the chest and he laughed. "Allow me to further disappoint you: it's nearly three a.m. Shall we call it a night so that you might find a bit of sleep before you leave?"

Cal sighed and stood up, Murdoc following. "You're right, Niccals, let's do this like a Band-Aid." She grabbed her phone. "Separate taxis, that way it's separate ways from here. No expectations, no complications. We won't have to look at each other at all … just stare back at this crumbling building if we must."

"Ah, that's poetic. Let me guess, Shakespeare, the building represents us?"

Cal offered him a small smile. She took a hold of his shirt collar and stood on her tip toes to look him directly in the eyes. A wave of panic overcame Murdoc. He swallowed hard. His eyes closed and his lips remained in a tight line across his face as he felt Cal's cheek rest against his, her arms wrapping around his neck. After a moment, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and they stood there beneath the opened ceiling as the rain continued to fall over them. Finally, she released him and pulled off his jacket.

"Cal, it's cold."

She shook her head. "No expectations." She held out his jacket to him. Half-heartedly, he took it.

When the cabs arrived, both drivers offering perplexed looks at their newest fairs, Murdoc opened the door for Cal and she slid in. Shutting the door, he opened the front passenger door and handed the driver some money.

"Really, asshole?"

Murdoc gave Cal a smirk. "Like you have any money, Charity Case." The driver took it, then glanced down at the seat as Murdoc shut the door. He went around to her window as she rolled it down. "Try not to bring down the bloody plane with your fiery personality."

Cal smiled up at him. "Try not to get lost in the rubble, Niccals."

His stomach sank as she rolled the window up and the cab pulled off.

"Oy, mate, she's gone. Shall we get a move on? Ruddy rain is freezing."

Murdoc waited a moment and then went to the cab. He shut the door behind him and told the driver the address of his hotel. As it pulled away from the curb, Murdoc mustered all the strength within him to glance back at the building. _It really is a shithole_ , he thought, and turned back around, slouched down along the seat and closed his eyes.

* * *

At Cal's hotel, the driver hopped out and opened the door for her. Thanking him and offering him a meager tip (because Murdoc was right, she was broke), she started to head towards the entrance when the driver called after her.

"Miss, don't forget your jacket."

Cal stopped and turned. "I don't have a jacket."

The driver pulled Murdoc's leather jacket from the front seat. "Is this not yours? The man you were with left it."

A smile broke out across her face. "Well, shit. My mistake."


	5. Chapter 5

_Three months later –_

The committed joggers and cyclists were out along the strand as Cal stayed to the right, allowing people to pass her as she walked. The morning was cool but the moisture was soothing and made her skin feel nourished. To her right, the beach was nearly vacant, except for the scattered belongings of some surfers who were taking advantage of the early morning swells before the onslaught of tourists to come. Above them and the glossy grey surface of the ocean, the sky was a dull blue waiting to be ignited by the rising sun hidden behind the apartments and stores lining the eastern side of the strand to Cal's left. Catching a sunrise wasn't an easy feat with the looming hills and business district highlighting the Los Angeles skyline, but Venice Beach always provided front row seating for remarkably colorful sunsets. Though no sunset was ever the same, Cal knew for certain tonight's would be different – completely so. The tightening of her muscles and the anxiety that hollowed out her stomach reminded her of this as she grabbed the handle of the entrance to La fénix and slipped in. The bar, a blazon ensemble of red, purple, and blue booths, mismatched barstools and tall wooden tables, and walls decorated with paintings, photos and flora, was vacant of patrons and regulars, but the space was loud enough on its own. Cal's best friend and owner of La fénix, Letícia Martínez, was the sole figure in the room, mopping the dance floor that sat at the back end of the room just before a small stage that was lined with instruments and mic stands.

"G'moring, Letí," greeted Cal as she passed between some tables.

"Hey girl," returned Letí as she leaned the mop against the stage, wiped her hands on her apron and met Cal at the edge of the dance floor. They kissed each other on the cheek before Cal handed Letí an envelope.

Letí took it reluctantly. "You sure, Cal? I don't need this back right now."

Cal sat on a stool at the table next to them. "You know how much I hate being in debt. But it's all there, every last penny. Babe, you don't know how much I appreciate it."

"Please, it's the least I can do," remarked Letí, sliding the envelope into her apron as she returned to the mop. "You could've just stayed at my place, too – but I already know what you're gonna say: pero _,_ I hate charity." She whined the last bit, to which Cal laughed and flipped her off.

"I was gonna say, pero mamí _,_ I'll just live at the bar and be your security guard if you let me eat and drink for free. And I'll dedicate my first-born to you."

"I already know your first-born is going to me," chuckled Letí. "I wouldn't trust you with a nearly killed my houseplants while I was in the D.R."

"I replaced three of them, actually."

"I know. Créeme, there's no way you watered my weeping Dracaena back into a perfectly happy existence, especially with the ray of sunshine you've been lately." Letí put the mop back into its bucket, removed her apron and tossed it with the envelope onto the stage. She wore a black spaghetti-strap camisole and vibrant blue and green geometrically designed leggings. Around her neck hung a necklace with chunks of turquoise separated with gold beads, which matched the gold bands that adorned the braids on her head, the rest of her hair sitting naturally in a large afro. She walked across the room to the bar.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Girl, if you'd finish the damn book, you wouldn't be so mopey," Letí called over her shoulder.

"It's missing something, Letí. I need to do some rewrites and my stupid gig with the online magazine isn't helping. Every time I find a groove I get put onto another assignment and have to switch gears. It's mentally agonizing."

"So quit."

"Yeah, sure, and end up on Skid Row."

" _Or_ you can take a handout and stay with me for a bit until the book is done instead of paying on a mortgage for your studio." She returned to the table with two steaming mugs of coffee. "You want huevos con mangú también?"

"I was actually thinking about getting a breakfast burrito," replied Cal, glancing over at the kitchen behind the bar.

"Carlito's in the back."

"I didn't wanna bother him."

"Girl, he's the chef. He's also very concerned that you're not eating enough. You drink more than you eat." She bellowed in the direction of the kitchen, "¿Verdad, Carlito?"

"Sí, un burrito para la flaca," responded Carlito from the kitchen.

Cal rolled her eyes, her face flushing as she rested her head on her hand. "Thanks, Carlito," she called.

Smirking, Letí took a seat across from Cal. "It's not just the book is it? It's tonight."

Cal shrugged.

"You excited?"

"Well, yeah."

"That sounds anti-excited."

"It's just weird."

"When you got back, you couldn't stop talking about the trip … about your English friend." Letí leaned forward on the table, staring directly at Cal. "And then it died down."

"The conversation died down."

"But he'll be here tonight," remarked Letí.

Cal ran a hand over her hair, looking away from Letí. "Yeah, I mean … I guess it'll be nice."

Letí sighed. "Three months ago you woulda been stoked – hell, a month ago."

"A lot of time has passed. A lot of silence."

"You said he's in a band? He's touring, yeah? He's probably busy."

"Well yeah. It's not like that, though. I don't need attention or anything, it's just … you know, when you have your favorite primos over for the summer and then they go home for the school year and then suddenly it's summer again and you have to rekindle all of those fun summertime feelings? It's a lot of work. Kind of anxiety-inducing, actually. And what's worse is they're basically acquaintances, so there's no history."

Letí shook her head. "I think you're overthinking things. He's gonna get here and everything's gonna be fine."

"It doesn't even need to be anything more than that, Letí. It's not like anything happened. Really. He was just someone to talk to. A kindred spirit in a way. A fiery one at that."

"It'll still be fine. Friend or fuck, you'll be fine."

" _Not_ fuck."

"Like I said, whatever it _may be_ , you'll be fine." Letí took a sip of her coffee. "So, they playing a show here?"

"Actually, I don't know. 2D just said they'd be in town."

"'2D'? I thought you said his name was Manford."

Cal laughed. "Murdoc. He friend is 2D."

"Oh, right, _Murdoc_. Something unapologetically white."

"Better than 'Ryan.'"

Letí cocked an eyebrow. "I guess we'll see." She paused. "Why is his friend telling you this and not him?"

Carlito emerged from the kitchen with a massive breakfast burrito on one of Letí's festive orange plates. He set it down in the middle of the table, both Letí and Cal thanking him. As he left, Cal returned to Letí, who was eying her with a blatant need for information.

"2D found me on Facebook and added me. Asked for my number just in case they were headed out this way any time soon. We've texted a few times, him mostly just updating me about tour dates. Sent me this weird rock-related meme I didn't understand but laughed at anyway." She laughed to herself, still unaware about what he meant, and continued, "He said Murdoc had been under the weather. I don't know. He actually called me last week to tell me about tonight but didn't really give me any details. And I when I texted Murdoc about it all I got was a 'should be a good time, love.'"

"I'm not digging these vibes, Cal."

"He's not the most emotionally expressive man in the world, Letí."

"And who does that sound like?"

Cal narrowed her eyes at her. "Oo, don't go there."

"Señor Rivera, perhaps?"

"I told you not to go there."

"If this dude's bad news, you better not fuck around with him." Letí tore off a piece of the burrito and popped it into her mouth. "I don't have time for bad dudes, girl. You know I won't think twice about socking someone's dick if I have to."

"There will be no need for dick socking, thank you," said Cal, pulling off a corner of the burrito. "I'm not even worried about it because it's not like this is anything important. It's just some people who met at a place at one point who happen to be meeting up again in a different place. They'll probably be gone tomorrow. We can't complicate things."

"Ah yes, the dreaded complication of things. Your mortal enemy. Always afraid to get your toes wet in a little complication."

"I don't need it right now, Letí. I've got things I've gotta figure out."

"You've got a job, a place to live, and a book you're writing – not to mention the greatest friend a gal could ever have. What else do you need to figure out?"

Cal glanced down at the burrito. "How I'm going to eat this entire thing by myself."

"Excuse me? Half of this is mine, considering I supplied it." Letí gave her a smirk. "Listen, babe, whatever happens tonight, just let it be. I'm sure none of them are worried about it, so why should you? Who knows, maybe a little British influence will give you that needed inspiration for your book."

"Maybe." Cal took a bite, trying to ignore the wave of emotions that overcame her. "It's hard, Letí," she continued after a moment, "to be so inspired and then to feel like it's slipping away again. It's like a tease. A really cruel tease."

Letí watched her, her features softening. "I know, Cal. Have you gone to visit her lately?"

"I read her some stuff out of my journal when I got back but … haven't been back since. Whittier seems so far away right now."

Letí took Cal's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Eat, flaca _._ We have a lot of burrito ahead of us."

A tear slipping down her cheek, Cal chuckled softly.

"It's gonna be alright, babe. Lo prometo. We've gotten through so much. We can get through anything."

Cal nodded and gave her a faint smile.

* * *

Cal stayed at La fénix for most of the morning, helping Letí get the bar ready for midday opening before walking back to her studio to try to get some work done for an article. The trek back was more intense with the strand alive with beachgoers and vendors selling their merchandise. As she passed one of the tee shirt vendors just before her building, she caught sight of Darren, who sold weed out of his backpack while trying to score dates from impressionable females that crossed his path. Cal tried to elude him by maneuvering around a cluster of German visitors but tripped, landing directly in front of him.

"Hey Cal! I got some quality kush today if you're interested."

Picking herself up and brushing off her knees, Cal rolled her eyes. "Darren, when I have I ever been interested? I told you, I haven't smoked in ages."

"Now's the best time to start. It's legal and I've got some great shit – fair pricing, too. For you, I'll even throw in a discount."

"No," replied Cal bluntly.

"You always say no."

"So stop asking."

"Are you ever gonna be fun, Cal?"

Cal glared at him. "I'm a ton of fucking fun, asshole. Are you ever going to stop being a lowlife?"

Darren's eyebrows lowered over the top of this sunglasses. "Hey, I love what I do. I make people happy, and I have a good time doing it. What's the harm in that, man?"

Cal shook her head and turned away, stalking back towards her studio. Opening her laptop, she stared at her unfinished article for a bit, opened a Corona and tried to press on with it, getting in a paragraph before finally giving up. Downing the beer, she changed into her bikini and slipped on a pair of boardshorts, grabbed her towel and phone, and headed outside. Dodging cyclists and skateboarders, she jogged across the strand to the sand, padding her way over the berm towards the water. It was a clear day. The water was a deep blue, the surface shimmering from the afternoon sun. Dumping her towel and her phone, Cal crossed the wet sand into the tide.

The entire time she body-surfed, she couldn't shake the short conversation with Darren. It was stupid, she knew. It's not like they were friends or anything, but she couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth. Darren was a happy individual, as annoying as he was, and he hustled just as hard as everyone else along the strand trying to make a living. The words were foreign yet familiar … _fuck, I sounded like my dad_. Cal dipped under a wave and popped up, smoothing her hair back. The warmth of the sun heated her exposed skin, a wonderful contrast against the cold water. With the next set, she caught a wave inward, heading back to shore. Rubbing the water out of her eyes, she caught sight of Letí sitting on her towel, texting. She made her way up just as Letí tossed the phone aside.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not too long," replied Letí, laying back on her elbows. "I left Carlito in charge. It's dead right now anyway. Figured you'd be here since I couldn't get you on the phone."

"Went for a swim."

"I can see that. When you're done, let's grab some carne asada for the grill. Have some beers on your porch before I head back."

"You're going back to Pedro tonight? Why don't you just stay the night?"

"We'll see how it plays out. Your friends might show up."

"I haven't heard anything."

"The day's still young." She tossed Cal her towel.

That evening, Cal and Letí were seated on her porch, which was really just the small space between her front windows and the gate that separated her property from the stand. Her tiny red grill sat between them as the meat roasted, a pleasurable aroma catching in the evening breeze. Cal pulled a hoodie on, still in her damp bikini, her wet hair tied up on top of her head. Letí sipped on a Blue Moon with one of Cal's serape blankets wrapped around her shoulders. To the west, the sky was a deep purple, the sun casting dying orange and red hues just under the horizon. As Cal flipped over a piece of meat, a guy in a pair of boardshorts with bleached blonde hair stopped and leaned on the gate, glancing down at the grill.

"You ladies looking to share?" He gave them a flirtatious wink.

"You homeless?" asked Letí, unimpressed.

"Fuck no."

"Then get the fuck outta here, asshole," she remarked, and the guy backed away, hopped on his skateboard and took off into the crowd.

"The only downside to this place is the close proximity to stupid humans I have to deal with," stated Cal, placing the lid back on the grill.

"And there are some real winners along the strand." Letí narrowed her eyes just past Cal, but before Cal could turn her head to see what Letí was staring at, two arms wrapped around her shoulders from over the gate. Gasping, Cal was nearly pulled out of her seat when a very chipper – and familiar – voice rang out.

" _Cal!_ "

"Girl, please tell me you know this blue-haired tweaker," said Letí, alarmed, halfway out of her seat.

Cal jumped up and held 2D by the shoulders. "Yes, I do!" She embraced him. "Oh my goodness, you're here!" She released him as Russel and Noodle walked up to the gate, each of them smiling.

"Hey Cal!" greeted Noodle, and she gave Cal a hug, Russel following suit.

"Hey guys!" Cal turned to Letí and introduced them all, "2D, Noodle, Rus, this is my best friend Letí."

"Hi," said Letí with a wave.

Before she could turn around again, Cal felt that familiar presence near her, smelled the smoke from a cigarette. Her muscles tensed.

"I recall that jumper," came a low, familiar voice, and Cal turned to find Murdoc leaning on the gate. "And lack of trousers."

A small smile spread across her face, though she tried to play it off by licking her lips. "There you are, stranger. Dramatic as ever."

"This must be Manford," chimed Letí. She sat back on the beach chair, her hands gripping the armrests.

"Murdoc," Cal gently corrected.

Murdoc put out the cigarette under his heel. "It seems the wrong-name epidemic is an American attribute. It's nice to meet you, Letí."

"We'll see about that," replied Letí.

"Oh, I like this one," said Russel.

"How'd you guys find me?" Cal asked.

"Well, I texted you this afternoon, just after we landed," replied 2D, "but Letí here responded via your phone. She gave us your address and said to come by, that there'd be food. So we came. Not just for the food, though."

Cal chuckled and gave Letí a look. Letí looked away, feigning innocence. "How long are you guys in town for?"

"A month," said Murdoc, which caught Cal off-guard. "We're on holiday and decided to come to L.A. We're planning a small show before we head back out to Europe for the final leg of this tour."

"You're gonna be here for a month?" questioned Cal.

"We rented an apartment in a place called Santa Monica because I saw they had a roller coaster nearby, like a fair, and I love fairs," said 2D. "Although this place is quite lovely, too. Very friendly. I've already had three people approach me, wanting to share their music and drugs."

"Oh Jesus Christ, you said no, right?" asked Letí.

2D turned to her, producing a few burned CDs from his jacket pockets. "I declined the drugs though. I've a specific dealer, should I need him, and I'd hate to be rude towards his services."

A quiet fell over everyone until Cal finally realized that she was suddenly the hostess. "Oh, yes, well, I'm going to grab the tortillas. Everyone, please come in, find a seat, and we'll eat and catch up." She clapped her hands together and anxiously went into the studio. 2D pulled up another chair, offering it to Noodle, who shook her head and sat herself on the flat surface of the gate. Letí grabbed another chair from inside the door and gave it to Russel, who sat it right next to her. Murdoc passed them all and followed Cal inside.

It was a small flat, though nice, with gray walls decorated with paintings he was sure were her aunt's – at least some of them had to be. A plush black couch rested against the wall to his left, on either side of it bookcases filled with books, pictures, and knick-knacks. To his right was her disheveled bed and a bedside table. In the corner beyond the bed was a door which probably led to the bathroom, another door for a closet space, and directly ahead of him was Cal in the kitchen, which was separated from the room by a bar space. She grabbed items from the cupboards haphazardly, not noticing his presence until he finally asked if she needed help.

Cal dropped a pack of tortillas on the counter, nervously laughing as she gripped her chest.

"Nice place," he said, the tension in the room weighing on him. "It's very you."

"Thanks," she replied, grabbing the tortillas. "I can't believe you're standing in my living room."

"More like the boundary line between the living room and kitchen."

"It's an expensive little box but it's home."

"Honestly, I can't believe I'm standing here, either."

"Yeah, about that." She paused and looked directly at him. "You're gonna be here for an entire month and you didn't tell me?"

"It was kind of like a surprise."

"Kind of like a surprise … let me guess – 2D's idea?"

Murdoc put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "More or less." He quickly added, "I was totally onboard when he suggested it."

"And you never texted me about it."

"I'm pretty sure the nature of a surprise tends to include the air of one party being unaware of what the other's doing. I was expecting your reaction to go a little differently."

Cal narrowed her gaze at him. "And I was expecting a little more than a handful of texts in the last three months, Murdoc, whether or not you were planning on coming here. Even a basic response to a few of them would've been nice."

Murdoc ran a hand through his hair. If Cal had asked him what he'd been up to in the past three months, he wouldn't know how to answer because he couldn't remember much of it, except for the vivid imagery of the bottom of toilet bowls, the consistent swirling of the atmosphere around him, and the yelling, mostly from his own mouth.

"It's been a busy time."

Cal took the tortillas and motioned him over with the jerk of her head. "Come grab these. The salsa, too."

Murdoc complied, following her out the door as the sky grew dark. The group already had a round of Coronas in-hand while Letí told them about Santa Monica pier, 2D listening intently as the fire from the grill danced playfully in his black eyes.

"It makes sense why you made me buy so much carne asada now," said Cal to Letí as they made room for her and Murdoc to set down the tortillas and fixings.

"Everything I do is for a reason," chimed Letí. "I'm gonna have a taco on the go, though. I need to get back to the bar."

"The bar?" Russel repeated.

"Yeah, _my_ bar. La fénix. It's down the strand a short walk. You guys are welcome to stop by any time. It's a real happening place."

"It is," added Cal. "It's the best place to go along the strand, and I'm not just saying that."

"You better be saying that." Letí gave Cal a wink.

"We'll definitely be stopping by," said Russel.

Added Murdoc, "I second that."

Letí stood, and she and Cal kissed. "Later, chica. Llámame después." She turned to the group. "It was very nice to meet you all, and I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."

"Very nice to meet you, Letí." Russel shook her hand tightly. "Are you gonna make it back okay?"

"Boy please, I know this place like the back of my hand. Nobody's gonna mess with me." She passed through the gate, gripping the taco. To Cal, she emphasized, "Llámame," and proceeded along the strand.

"What does 'yah-mah-mah-may-dis-poo-es' mean?" asked 2D as Cal sat in Letí's chair.

"Means 'call me later'," responded Murdoc as 2D fixed himself a few tacos.

"Oh, you speak Spanish now, too?" remarked Cal as Murdoc popped the cap off his Corona. "¿Quieres una cerveza diferente?"

"Preferably. Do you have anything darker, or perhaps something else entirely? And yes, I do."

Russel cracked a smirk. "Go on, Muds, tell 'er about your stint in Mexico."

Murdoc narrowed his eyes at him. "We just got here, Rus, I'd hate to lay it on so thick so suddenly."

"Please, my balls are so blue with three-month's worth of anticipation," Cal muttered, getting up from the chair. "I'll be right back."

As soon as Murdoc saw her disappear into the studio, he clutched the arms of the chair and hissed at Russel, "Don't even think about tarnishing this."

"What are you afraid of? She's just a friend, right? And friends know shit about each other, even their dirty laundry."

"Alright boys, please don't start," interjected Noodle, a serious look on her face. "I really can't take another fight."

"I really can't believe I'm sober right now," grumbled Murdoc.

"Murdoc, you've been black-out drunk the last 90 days," Noodle snapped. "I think you owe us a night of normalcy."

"I kept to myself," he countered.

"You embarrassed yourself and us at the last few rehearsals and interviews. Please use this holiday wisely. We all deserve this."

Murdoc said nothing as Cal returned, a dusty bottle of Jack Daniels in hand, in the other a glass.

"This is all I have right now. If I'd known you were coming, I would have been more prepared."

"Don't worry about it, Cal," said Noodle. "We weren't planning on staying late tonight. It's been a long journey."

Cal handed Murdoc the bottle and glass, and sat down. "Tell me about. It took me a week to readjust back into real life."

"I can't believe you left all of this for the U.K.," remarked Noodle as she turned and leaned on the gate, her gaze caught on the dying horizon. The strand was lit in a warm yellow haze from the lampposts and lighting from the businesses that surrounded them. Stereos from neighboring studios whose inhabitants were also grilling, and from a couple of bars in either direction filtered to them in a clash of tempo. A grinned played on her face as people skated by, some offering nods and waves as they passed.

2D jumped up, clutching his plate with careful intent, and joined Noodle at the gate. "True dat. This place is simply magical. All these little lights, like fireflies blinking their hellos, and these people, like those fun animatronics you see at theme parks, but not, cos these are real – they really sell the place."

"Have you never been here before?"

"We've been to L.A.," answered Russel as he made another few tacos and doused them each with salsa, "but we never found time to come to the beach."

Murdoc added, "Just the Hollywood and downtown areas. Tall buildings, loads of traffic. Like everywhere else." He held the half-empty glass of Jack Daniels in his palm, staring out into the darkness past Noodle and 2D.

"Well, Venice is not like anywhere. It's its own style, personality. You have to be ready to see anything." Cal looked to Noodle and 2D. "But mostly, you have to have an open mind. Let it inspire you. It can be a little hard here, even sad. But the place has heart, and that's what I love about it the most. No one comes here for an easy time or to fit in. You come here to be you, in whatever way that is." She glanced at Murdoc, who was staring at her. When their eyes met, he quickly looked down at his glass and took a long swallow.

Noodle turned, shrugging her shoulders as she leaned against her elbows on the gate. "Again, you left _this_ for the U.K.?"

Cal chuckled. "I needed to find a different kind of inspiration. We need to leave our comfort zone every now and again, yeah? Learn something about ourselves."

"Find ourselves," 2D added, still staring out.

"Find ourselves only to realize we're more lost than ever."

"What do you mean?" Noodle inquired.

"Well, I always hear people say they're 'finding themselves' but I've never actually found my _self_. I've learned things about who I am, but it's a constant process. I think forcing ourselves out of our comfort zones don't necessarily give us answers, but rather more of a definition of who we are or who we can become. Continuous evolution. It's opening our eyes to parts of us we either honestly can't see or choose not to see. And when people don't grasp that concept, they feel even more lost, when really it's right there in the mirror, right in front of them."

"And what did you find in your search?" Murdoc's voice was quiet, his dark eyes on her, his face highlighted by the fire.

"Rubble," she replied. "A lot of it."

"I don't recall seeing any rubble in Manchester," remarked 2D, a lanky finger on his chin. "Did see some road work, though. Is that what you mean?"

Cal chuckled softly and looked up at 2D. "I noticed some. But I meant more so in Stoke."

"That makes a lot more sense."

Cal lowered her gaze at the grill, the fire cooking nothing at all, as she avoided her left side where Murdoc was. She caught the movement of his arm as he raised his glass to take another sip.

"I, for one, I am happy you hopped the pond," stated Russel, breaking the silence that had overcome the group. "If you hadn't, I wouldn't be sitting here enjoying these tacos."

"Me too," agreed Noodle.

"It's nice to change things up a bit," Russel added. "And I certainly want to check out your friend Letí's bar."

"We can, totally," replied Cal. "I don't know what your guys' plans are for your vacation but just know that my house is open to you, and while I have a job, my schedule's pretty flexible. I can give you guys ideas on things to go see and do, I can take you places if you want as well – just say the word and I can help however you want me to."

"Murdoc mentioned you surf. We must do the beach," Noodle told her.

"Yeah, I've never surfed before!" 2D stuffed the last of the tacos on his plate into his mouth. "The beach would be lovely!"

Cal turned to Murdoc as he threw back the last of the Jack Daniels in his glass. "Anything in particular you wanna see, Niccals?"

He shrugged, staring down at the glass. "I'm just along for the ride. Whatever you think is necessary, I'll tag along."

Cal nodded, silent. Her body relaxed into the chair, a disappointed lethargy overtaking her. She felt disarmed which angered her, especially because it wasn't so simple that she could retreat into the house to escape the coldness from her left. And she couldn't confront it with everyone present; it was too awkward. _So much for no complication. Asshole._

Before the defeat could manifest into anger, Noodle stood from the gate and looked down at Cal. "This has been such a wonderful way to begin our holiday, Cal. I think I'm going to head back to the apartment. Is everybody else ready? We should all get some rest."

"Sounds like a plan." Russel stood, grabbing his empty beer bottle and some other trash from dinner. "We'll help you clean up, Cal."

Cal jumped up. "No, no – it's no problem at all, I got it." She took the items from Russel. "First night's free of charge." She gave him a smile and started collecting the other plates. "You guys get back to the apartment and relax. Like I said, if you need anything, let me know."

"We'll hit you up tomorrow for sure," said Russel. "Maybe hit up Letí's."

"There's a kitchen attached to the bar. We can do dinner."

"Sounds good," he said, holding open the gate for Noodle and 2D as they passed in front of him. "We'll catch you tomorrow, then."

"G'night guys," Cal called, trying not to pay attention as Murdoc stood, holding the Jack Daniels bottle.

"See you tomorrow, Cal!" 2D waved fervidly at her. "Take your time, Muds," he quickly added as the three of them walked off.

"Two seconds," Murdoc called after him. He turned to Cal as she closed the lid on the grill.

"You can take that with you," she said over her shoulder, not looking at him. "I'm not a fan of Jack Daniels."

"And yet you have it."

"It was Ryan's." She stood up and turned to him. "Somehow it ended up in my storage unit when I moved."

Murdoc smacked his lips. "No wonder it tasted flat." He capped the bottle and tucked it under his arm. "No matter, booze is booze."

"I beg to differ. There are differences."

The heat crept up the back of his neck. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why would there be anything wrong, Murdoc?"

He crossed his arms, watching her closely. "For one, you never call me 'Murdoc,' and yet that's all you've called me since I've arrived."

Cal sat the stuff in her arms in the chair. "Fine. Why was tonight completely awkward?"

"It was awkward?"

"Don't play that, man, you've been throwing some seriously closed-off vibes."

"I'm tired. It was a long flight."

Cal gritted her teeth behind her pursed lips. Exhaling, she looked at him. _Don't_ , she told herself. _Don't make it complicated. Why shouldn't he be tired – he's come straight from another country_. She rolled her eyes. "I'm probably tired, too. Sorry."

He watched her for a moment, his expression even. Finally, the corner of his lip curled and he traced his thumb over the curve of her cheek. "You really do have a lot of freckles. It's probably the sun that brings them out." He retracted his hand. "Anyway … I really appreciate this. You know, feeding us and playing hostess."

She nodded. "Well, you played hostess. I figure it's only fair."

He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. "I'm much more impressed."

"I don't have any abandoned buildings nearby for us to blow steam off on because usually people squat in them, or we'll get arrested."

"Hey, more memories for the books, right? I'm sure you look lovely in handcuffs."

"I'm more into softer restraints."

Murdoc looked at her, and her smile appeared. If the fire was still there, he was sure she would have seen the deepening hue in his cheeks, so he stood there thankful for the darkness. The muscles in his abdomen tightened. _Time to go_.

"Sweet dreams, Niccals," she said, and she gathered the trash from the chair.

Murdoc watched her walk to the door, opening it with her hip. "Goodnight, Cal." When the door closed, Murdoc proceeded through the gate, maneuvering around people, though not really present. The Jack Daniels weighed him down, his eyelids the heaviest as he carried on, heat rising from under the soles of his boots from the concrete. He hadn't drunk a lot, but the buzz from the plane ride that was exaggerated by his trip to the liquor around the corner from the apartment while they all unpacked lingered into his reunion with Cal. He kept it quiet, though, as he wasn't alone and the last thing he wanted was more bullshit from Noodle and Russel. Playing it safe, he remained quiet as he caught up to the others and they shared an Uber ride back to the apartment, 2D making commentary on every billboard and building they passed, Noodle indulging him while Russel snored against the backseat window.

At the apartment, he hustled from the car to his room, avoiding all of the laughter from 2D and Noodle as they teased Russel about his snoring, where he tossed the bottle onto his bed and stripped off his jeans and his shirt. Taking the bottle by the neck, he moved around the foot of the bed to the window, drew open the curtain and pulled the single chair in the space to him, sitting back into it and propped his heels up on the window sill, crossing his feet at the ankles. Murdoc took a significant swallow from the bottle, the rushing of cars below filled the room like the humming of static, a cool sea breeze creeping up the length of his legs. Across the way was the side of another apartment building, his neighbor's barred window closed and dark. He knew if he leaned out the window and looked to his left, he'd see a part of the Santa Monica pier, where the majority of the night's noises came from. In the room next to him, the view was directly over the street with the pier in plain sight. 2D's room. 2D was eager to have it when they first arrived, though backed off when Murdoc had walked into it first. Honestly, Murdoc walked into the first room he saw to get away from everyone, but when 2D followed him in and started going on about the view, Murdoc realized that the view would be wasted on him if he chose to stay. Plus, 2D chose the apartment because of the pier, so he knew what he had to do. Of course, Murdoc didn't say any of this aloud, but rather cursed at 2D for running up on him and tainting the room with his annoying presence.

"The light shines right in, bloody blinding, so you can have at it, wanker," Murdoc had growled. "It's annoying like you." 2D hadn't been disappointed by the decision. Murdoc could hear him now in the next room, pointing out things Murdoc couldn't see to whom he believed was Russel.

He sighed and took another drink, returning his gaze to the dark wall across the way. The thumb that had caressed Cal's cheek slipped over the skin of his index finger in an absent rotation.

 _Holy fuck, I'm here._

Part of him wanted to text her, wanted to apologize for the distance both physically and vocally for the past three months, but he knew that no matter what he wanted it wasn't actually going to happen. Locating his phone in a drunken state was like trying to find himself; the bloody thing was probably right in front of his face but he'd never find it. He didn't want to text Cal drunk, and he didn't want to say something that would suggest anything of permanence to her for fear that she'd read into it, which seemed stupid now because three months ago, he never expected to see her again, and yet he was literally a short drive away from her currently. It was overwhelming and freaked him out on a level he hadn't realized existed within him. Suddenly a girl who'd been a part of the background of a familiar place was the forefront of an unfamiliar place in which he'd been superimposed. She wasn't Cal the tourist anymore on his turf, but rather he was the tourist on hers. He saw her in nothing but a hoodie, wet hair, no pants … trousers – _whatever_. It was all very frightening. Very real.

He took another drink.

 _What the fuck does it matter? She's just a girl …_

 _…_ _a girl with the most intriguing mind. And a nice arse._

Murdoc gritted his teeth, strangling the Jack Daniels bottle within his palm. He brought it up to his mouth and let the liquid run down his throat. A knock on the door threw off his concentration, causing him to choke suddenly, and he nearly fell off the chair.

"Can I come in?" came the quiet voice from the cracked door which instantly made Murdoc rush to grab his pants.

" _Just a sec!_ " Shoving his legs into the jeans and careful when zipping up his zipper, Murdoc leaned against the bed, out of breath. "Right, have at it."

Noodle slipped in and gently shut the door behind her. She waited before finally looking at him, and then crossed the room to the other side of his bed. "The lights are off. Is it safe to sit?"

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "Probably the best and only time."

Noodle hopped on the bed and sat cross-legged. She was already in her pajamas, a pair of boxers with cats playing with balls of yarn on them and an old band tee – a Blizzard of Oz tour shirt. He also noticed her polka-dotted knee-high socks.

Murdoc laughed. "Holy fuck. Haven't seen that shirt in years."

Noodle looked down at it.

"Yeah." He sat on the edge of the bed facing her. "Saw 'im at King's Hall. Had to been around thirteen or fourteen at the time. Snuck out. Great fucking show."

Noodle watched as he went somewhere far away in his mind, the tiniest hint of a smile crossing his face. She patted the space next to her, but Murdoc moved only slightly towards her. "You seem tired."

"Long flight, love."

"I know. I was on it."

"Well, I know you aren't here for small talk, Noodle, so out with it." He sighed and laid back on the pillows, stretching himself down the length to the bed, his hands behind his head. "What've I done this time?"

She laid back, maintaining the space between them, and rested her head on her hands as well. They both stared up at the ceiling. "Did Cal really find rubble in Stoke?"

"I took her to an abandoned hotel near The Pig. We got bloody drunk and knocked in some walls. Harmless, really. Just needed to release some tension."

"Her or you?"

"Both, I suppose."

"Are you happy we came here?"

"It's a nice change of pace. A lot more topless tossers than I'm used to."

"It's the beach, Muds."

"Still."

"And Cal, are you happy to see her?"

Murdoc paused. "That's a silly question."

"I get a good feeling about her."

"You barely know her."

"And yet here we are." She turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand.

Murdoc turned his head and looked at her. "2D picked this place. I'm just along for the ride."

"You know, an old grumpy green man once told me that life doesn't take kindly to passengers. That not knowing how to drive is a sign of weakness because it keeps me at the mercy of reckless drivers. While I can't say I've come to completely agree with that piece of wisdom in its entirety, I think I know why he told me that. Most of the time we have a choice, and sometimes we don't. But I think in those moments when we have that choice, driving is the best option – not because of the fear of being weak, but for the opportunity to explore and to be moved by the world around us. By the worlds we can pass through. I've seen a lot on this journey, both as a passenger and driver, and it's been such a fun time because I allow it to be."

Murdoc turned his head back towards the ceiling, but Noodle took his chin and turned it back towards her.

"I'm not finished, old grumpy green man. I don't know if you're meant to be the driver right now or the passenger, but I ask that you make a choice one way or the other, not for me, but for you. You can let life navigate and choose to enjoy the ride, or you can navigate and choose to enjoy the ride. Either way, enjoy the fucking ride. That's the choice you always have." She released his face and sat up. "I'm going to 2D's room. Apparently there's gonna be a fireworks display in a few, from what he saw on Twitter. Come join us."

"No thank you," he said quietly, and returned his stare to the ceiling.

"Then enjoy the darkness, Murdoc." Noodle got up and silently padded to the door, opened it and slipped out.

Murdoc laid there in the quiet, the honking and treading of cars slowly creeping in. His lower lip quivered and he quickly closed his eyes, rubbing at them with hand before sitting up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached down to grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. There was only a swallow left. Tossing the cap off into the corner of the room, he finished the bottle and dropped it onto the carpet. Outside the window, a distinct popping noise caught his attention, a flash of red light coloring the darkened wall across the way. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Murdoc turned and walked to the door, moving silently into the hallway. He heard 2D gasp and peered into the room. Noodle and 2D leaned outside the window, highlighted in blue and gold as more fireworks went off. Russel leaned against the wall on his arm on 2D's other side, watching over their heads. Murdoc crossed his arms and rested his shoulder against the doorframe, more for support than leisure. There was a whirl-wind raging within him and he was certain his feet wouldn't stay on the ground much longer. The outlines of the group started to tremble, blurring together where they touched, the flash of color from the fireworks giving them a strange 3-D effect. Murdoc rubbed his eyes and returned his gaze, catching Russel staring at him. His lips were a line across his darkened face. He returned his gaze outside and rested a hand on 2D's shoulder.

Murdoc's upper lip twitched, his teeth coming together as he stared at them, finally backing out of the room.

With this movement, Noodle glanced back at the door, but there was no one there.


	6. Chapter 6

Murdoc's door opened with a thunderous rush and he shot up, his chest heaving as though trying to push an elephant off it. He barely had time to do anything more before 2D appeared, standing proudly within the doorframe, his hands latched to his hips. Through a groggy haze, Murdoc saw the younger man wearing a lime green Speedo and a pair of swimming goggles on his forehead.

"It's time to get up for reals now, Muds, we don't want to be late!"

" _Have you any idea what time in the fucking morning it is, you blimey twat?_ " roared Murdoc, his head throbbing with every syllable. He seized his pillow and launched it across the room, 2D stepping gracefully out of its path, the grin etched into his face.

"Morning? It's noon, Muds," called Noodle from the other room. "Now get your arse up and ready, we're meeting Cal at the beach."

Grabbing his phone, Murdoc realized that Noodle was right. His stomach gurgled.

"I tried waking you earlier to come with us to grab some proper swim attire, but you told me to sod off, so I let you sleep," explained 2D as he made his way towards the bed. "But, I also know you don't own anything 'aving to do with swimming so I took the liberty of getting you some boardshorts and a pair of Speedos like mine, except in black cos that's all you ever wear."

"I don't want a fucking black Speedo!" seethed Murdoc, his nails digging into the sheets around him. "I'll fucking drown you before matching you."

"Then opt for the boardshorts cos I'd rather live today."

"I'm not wearing any of it."

"But Muds, you can't go in the buff here, it's illegal."

" _I mean I'm not going swimming_." The pain in his head sliced through his brain like a saw as he glowered at 2D. He caught sight of Noodle standing in the doorway looking less than impressed by his words as she observed him with raised eyebrows. "I mean … I'll _go_ to the beach but … I'm not swimming." He watched her relax, her lips curving before she turned and disappeared into the living room. Murdoc shot his murderous eyes back at 2D. "You look like an idiot in that thing."

2D looked down his front. "I think it accentuates all the right areas, actually. Although, I was bummed cos I gained some weight. I'm now a youth extra-large."

Murdoc smacked his forehead with his palm and laid back on the bed. "Just gimme a moment to wake up, Faceache. I'm bloody hungover."

"I'll make you some tea."

2D left the room and Murdoc rested his arms over his face, his body uneasy and intertwined in the sheets.

"I can't believe I'm fucking doing this," he muttered, mustering all his energy into untangling his naked form from the bed, and dragged himself to his suitcase. Hunched over, he sifted through his clothing. "Oy, shitheads – what's the weather here in bright and shiny Southern California?"

"Step your ass outside and find out," came Russel's morning greeting.

"27 degrees," called Noodle. "You should probably wear something light, Muds."

"Light, _bah_." Murdoc grabbed his jeans from last night and a black undershirt, and clumsily dressed. As he walked to the door, he found a pair of boots by the foot of the bed and shoved his wallet into his back pocket. In the living room, Noodle and Russel sat in their beach attire on their phones while 2D brought Murdoc a cup of tea.

"You sure you don't want the boardshorts, Muds?"

Murdoc latched a finger around the mug's handle and pulled it away from 2D. "I'm not putting a toe in the water."

"Let him enjoy sand in his crack, D," said Russel, a dark smirk overcoming his face as he looked up at Murdoc.

"You look like a hot air balloon," snapped Murdoc as he sipped the tea.

Russel glared at him. "Don't hate cuz I'm proud of who I am. The red and orange stripes on my tank top bring out the beautiful brown hue of my skin, Muds. You look like a background zombie in _Thriller_."

"Good, I'll be dead soon and won't have to endure any more of this nonsense." Murdoc threw back the boiling tea, enduring the fresh pain down his esophagus as it muted the sawing in his head, and harshly set the mug on the kitchen counter. "Did you lot already eat?" he grumbled.

"Cal's bringing food," replied Noodle, locking her phone and standing from the couch. "Picnic-type things." She placed a hand on a cooler, which sat on the couch cushion next to her. "We bought some things, too, including drinks."

Murdoc's face lit up.

" _Not_ booze. 2D wanted orange juice and iced tea, and I also packed some water."

"You're trying to depress me, aren't you?"

"It's illegal on the beach, Muds," replied 2D as he pulled a tank top with a similar pattern to Russel's on it and some khaki shorts.

"Venice Beach is hell," Murdoc muttered.

"I'm sure if you _must_ have a drink Cal will know how to sneak it," Noodle remarked, visibly irritated, "but for now, grab the cooler so we can meet the Lyft guy downstairs. He's been waiting."

When they reached the strand, the four of them headed straight to Cal's studio, Murdoc trudging behind as he carried the cooler with shaky hands.

"She says the key's hidden in a rock next to the door," said 2D to Noodle as they made it to Cal's gate.

"What're you on about?" questioned Murdoc as he watched Noodle pick up a fake rock and slide open a compartment. A brass key fell out into her palm.

"Cal told us to put anything we didn't want to bring to the beach in her house so we don't have to carry it," explained 2D as they walked inside.

"Well where the bloody hell is she?"

"Saving our spot on the sand."

"You asked to go into her flat?"

"Of course not. She told me to." 2D stripped off his tank top while Noodle did the same.

"Why would she tell _you_ that?" Murdoc dropped the cooler to the floor, his body growing warm and his jaw tight.

2D shrugged. "Guess cos we've been chatting all morning."

Noodle turned to them both, standing in her boardshorts and bikini top. "Cal coordinated this with 2D like what was discussed last night." Her tone was even as she watched Murdoc. "She was just relaying the plan through him to us."

Murdoc couldn't help the tension that coursed through him. He forced a shrug. "Doesn't matter. I was just asking."

"Sure you were," scoffed Russel as he draped his towel around his neck and placed a pair of Aviators on his face. He carried a massive bottle of suntan lotion in one hand and a grocery bag of chips in the other. "Can we please get a move on? There's a lot of sun to be had, and I need some serious meditation time."

"Had me some meditation time last night. It was bliss," chuckled Murdoc darkly, and Russel sighed, shaking his head as he pushed past him towards the door. 2D plugged his ears and trailed after Russel as Noodle socked Murdoc in the shoulder.

"Boundaries, Muds," she grimaced, passing him.

"Fuck, it was a joke." Murdoc rubbed his arm and shut the door behind him as they stepped out of Cal's house. Murdoc watched the group ahead of him excitedly cross the strand onto the sand, each of them removing their sandals. 2D gasped and raced forward, obviously burning his feet. Murdoc chuckled to himself and carefully made his way, his boots sinking with every step. The horizon was a glossy blue and the beach itself was packed with people. Children raced past Murdoc and he growled as they kicked up sand around him. He was about to curse out a group of teens rushing around him to grab an American football when he caught sight of Cal ahead of them. She stood amongst a couple of beach blankets and some outdoor chairs, a black wide-brimmed hat on her head. Her hair was braided, hanging down over her bare shoulder, and she wore a black halter-style bikini top on her chest. Her legs – _those legs_ – freefell in identical curves from a pair of black bikini bottoms that clung to her hips. Her eyes were covered by large circular sunglasses. And then most of her was covered as 2D embraced her, and the sudden muting of the pain throughout his body ceased, reminding him that he was still very hungover and now considerably irritable.

Cal greeted Noodle and Russel as they dropped their beach necessities on the blankets. "Good to see you guys!"

"Would you look at that!" 2D stopped next to Cal's long board and inspected it, impressed.

"I figured you could give it a go if you wanted. Might still be a little short for you, D. You're a fucking tree."

"Do you think I could handle it?" Noodle asked.

"Totally!" Cal turned as Murdoc stopped at the edge of the blankets, his hands in his pockets. "If it isn't my favorite ray of sunshine."

"I'm fucking in pain and in no mood, love."

Cal smirked. "So I've heard. Cool your heels, old man, I brought you some medication."

2D turned. "Cal, what's the best way to tackle the water?"

Cal looked at him over her shoulder as she rummaged through her cooler. "My advice: don't think, don't stop, and mind the in-shore holes. It's still the beginning of July and the southern currents are still coming up."

"And sea life – there wouldn't be any whales about?"

Cal cocked an eyebrow at a now visibly nervous 2D. "Whales, no. But we get jellyfish every now and again."

2D nodded, the smile overcoming his face again. He turned to Noodle. "Race ya!"

Noodle pushed him aside and bolted towards the water, 2D catching his balance before running after her.

"I'm gonna go for a quick dip," announced Russel. "I read that salt is good for the skin."

"And hair," added Cal, realizing this wouldn't help Russel. "Well, the scalp, too."

Russel gave her a chuckle and headed towards the water.

Murdoc collapsed into a beach chair, sprawling his legs out along the blanket in front of him. He watched the group in the waves, 2D and Noodle pushing each other while simultaneously trying not to fall in, shivering with each wave that rushed past their waists. With dainty care, Russel touched the white water with the bottom of his foot, testing out the temperature. Shrugging, he moved with ease past a fighting 2D and Noodle and dove under a wave, disappearing for a moment. Automatically, Murdoc's lip curled.

"Is that a smirk I see?" teased Cal as she sat in the chair next to him and handed him a blue Solo cup. She held her own in her other hand.

Murdoc looked in the cup. Amber liquid. "Oh my – you didn't."

"I did. I stopped by the liquor store earlier and grabbed you some shitty whiskey. Just keep it in the cup, okay?"

"Superb." The whiskey was heaven as it glided over his tongue. It was smooth and awoken his taste buds. "What 'ave you there?"

"Corona," replied Cal. "I'm glad you came, Niccals. Can't tempt you to go for a swim, though, huh?"

Murdoc shook his head. "I'm the official stuff watcher. Have at it, love."

"Do you even know how to?"

"I've been thrown into water before, mostly against my will. Haven't died yet, I'm afraid."

Cal laughed. "I think my goal on this trip is to find activities you'll willingly participate in."

"You already 'ave." He held up the cup to her. "Besides, I'm good at people watching. Judging. That sorta thing."

"There's plenty of babes out."

"Lots of skin, yeah." He looked at her. "You're basically naked."

"You said you wanted the full Monty, Niccals."

"Yeah, but that's not it." He smirked. "Not that I don't like what I see."

Cal shook her head and looked away, unable to stifle the giggle that escaped her lips. "Look, I'm all for the rebellious aloof bassist look – it's what caught my eye initially, Niccals. But you could learn to have a little fun, too, ya know. Show some skin."

"I'm all for being naked, I really am, but I've already been warned about the law here, and I don't want the attention right now. I'd hate to have to deal with all the girls and their jealous boy toys, and the fights sure to break out over my illustrious being. All that mess. Plus, there's skin cancer. I'm bound to inherit a plethora of diseases and cancers, but cancer of the skin isn't one I want. I prefer the ones that include fun ways to get them, if you know what I mean."

Cal burst out laughing. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Murdoc offered her a proud smile.

"Well, if I can't get you to act like a normal person and take your shirt off like you want to be here, maybe I can get you to help me with the lotion."

Murdoc eyed her. "Lotion?"

"I need to reapply." Cal got up and downed the last of the beer in her cup, placed it in the cooler and grabbed her bottle of sunblock. "I, too, don't want skin cancer." She held out the bottle to him.

Staring up at her blankly, Murdoc took it, and Cal turned and sat down before him on her knees.

"If you could just do my back and my shoulders, I can get the rest. I need it to dry before I take the board out." She pushed her braid over the front of her shoulder so that it was out of his way.

Murdoc stared at her back. Her skin was golden and freckles lined the tops of her shoulders, dotting sporadically down the length of her back. Her shoulder blades were defined and she had two distinct dimples on her lower back. All the pain from his hangover dissipated as his eyes moved up the length of her body to the back of the hat on her head. He cleared his throat and sat forward on the chair, popping open the bottle, and squeezed a glob of the white lotion into his palm.

 _Albert was right, she_ is _a she-devil._

"Oh, wait." She reached around her neck and untied the knot of the halter, exposing the back of her neck and she held the rest of the bikini top up with her hands.

 _Sweet fucking Satan_. Murdoc coughed and plunged two fingers into the lotion in his palm. Gingerly, he placed it between her shoulder blades and circled it in a tight motion.

"Really, Niccals? That's gonna take all day."

"How would you 'ave me do it then?" he snapped.

"Put the lotion on yours hands and rub them over the entirety of my back. It's really simple, Buffalo Bill."

"There's a joke in there about a hose."

"Is this too hard for you?"

"Fuck, woman, lemme work 'ere." He smashed the glob of sunscreen between his hands and, with care, placed them on her shoulders. He smoothed the lotion over her skin, running his palms down her back. Her skin was smooth, like he remembered from The Pig. It was also warm and moist – probably from perspiration.

Cal asked, "You really have never been to the beach, have you?" as she felt his hands move between her shoulder blades.

"Not in America."

Cal realized she was leaning back against his hands and corrected her posture. His hands moved with knowledgeable intention, his fingers sweeping down her sides, pressing the tops of her hips, and then up again to the back of her neck. He used only one hand for this, and he clasped around the side of her neck with his fingers, his thumb running up her cervical vertebrae with more force, almost as if he was massaging her … gripping her. Beneath her top, her nipples hardened as electricity coursed through her from the pressure of his fingertips.

"I think that's it," Murdoc said finally, and he rubbed his palms on his pants. "Let me have the tie-thingies of your top." Cal lifted them and Murdoc secured the top of the halter in place. When she turned around to take the lotion bottle from him, he noticed the hint of pink in her cheeks. Inwardly, he grinned. He watched her apply the lotion to her chest and stomach, over her arms and down the length of her legs. She removed her sunglasses and rubbed some onto her face, her brown eyes bright under the sunshine. Removing her hat, she passed it to Murdoc, and then gazed down at him.

"Is it all rubbed in?"

"It is. You look like a freckled sand queen, ready to take dominion over the fish."

"The shit that comes out of your mouth, Niccals." Cal grabbed her board and held it against her hip. "Make me a promise."

"Depends, love. If it involves sunscreen again, it's a definite yes."

"Good, because it does. Promise me you'll come out at least once while you're here. I won't let you drown."

Murdoc's smile dropped.

"It's just another experience, Niccals," she insisted. "Something to add to the books."

He sighed. "At some point … yes, Cal. I promise."

She beamed, and Murdoc caught the curve of her lips as she did so. "I'll be in the water."

"Try not to drown 2D – not because it's him. I just need his voice."

Cal rolled her eyes and headed down the beach, leaving Murdoc to sit back in the chair. He exhaled, his body relaxing as she moved farther away. His spiny fingers released the choke-hold they had on the armrests, and he extended his legs out again. He watched her walk all the way down the berm, the outward curve of her waist that held the board steady between her strong arms. He placed the hat over his lap, realizing he should have done that as soon as she'd given it to him. _There's no way she meant anything by any of it_ , he assured himself, watching her jump back as a wave rushed up her legs. 2D and Noodle swam towards her, Russel resting on his back as he floated far enough out that the waves didn't pound over him.

But despite his silent assurance, Murdoc couldn't help but notice how quickly 2D hopped onto the surfboard, Cal placing an arm across his back as she helped guide him over a small wave, her elbow close to his lime green backside.

 _Stop it, you bloody fool._

As his headache resurfaced, Murdoc decided it best to pour himself another cup of whiskey and try to catch some sleep while everyone was out in the water. Settling back into the chair with a refilled cup, Murdoc closed his eyes and rested his head back against the top of the beach chair.

It felt like seconds before his eyes popped open again, the rain pouring over his head. He jerked up, spilling his cup and realized he was still on the beach, not shivering through a misty night in Stoke, his body uncomfortably warm as Noodle stood wringing out her hair over him.

"Rise and shine, Rōjin!" she teased, and walked around him to where Russel was sprawled out on one of the blankets on his stomach, his tank top gone, snoring peacefully. Noodle laid on his back, but he barely noticed, turning his head in the other direction. Before Murdoc could wipe the saltwater from his face, another shadow overcame him and Cal was suddenly in his lap, her back curved along his front as she wriggled her soaked self against him.

"You look like you needed a dip, Niccals," she laughed over her shoulder at him. She scooted down between his legs, using his thighs as arm rests, and grabbed a bag of chips. "How was your nap?"

"Bloody fantastic," he muttered, his arms out as the dampened fabric of his tee clung to his torso.

2D laid out in the sand in front of them, burying his appendages. "This is _so_ lovely."

"You're still alive?"

"Sure am, Muds, Cal's a great lifeguard."

"Yeah, he nearly died like fifty times," added Noodle.

"He caught a wave though!" Cal mentioned, popping a chip into her mouth.

"It was more like watching a toddler take its first steps on top of a human-sized game of Jenga where there's only one block holding the tower up," Noodle explained as she hopped off Russel, grabbed a sandwich from the cooler and sat down in the chair next to Murdoc. "But yeah, as Cal would say, it was pretty rad."

Murdoc pulled the shirt over his head and laid it out on the arm of his chair. "And you, Noodle, how'd you do?"

2D picked his head up, his entire body beneath a mound of sand. "She was brilliant, Muds. She only wiped out twice."

Noodle beamed proudly.

Murdoc nodded. "Exquisite."

"You really need to try it, Muds," said Noodle.

"Don't worry, he already promised to come out at least once." Cal tilted her back at him and winked.

"To _swim_ ," he added.

"It's exhilarating, Muds, like flying."

"You've never done anything related to flying outside of a plane, 2D, unless you mean when you've flown over the top of your speed bike."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"When you guys are ready, we'll clean up at the house and walk over to Letí's." Cal rolled up the top of the bag of chips and stood, grabbing her towel. She wrapped it around her and sat on the edge of the blanket near 2D, facing Murdoc and Noodle.

"Do you think we'll need to shower at all?" Noodle inquired.

"Nah, it's real low-key there." Cal glanced over at 2D, only his grinning face exposed, the rest of him buried entirely. "Well, maybe 2D should shower."

* * *

They headed back to Cal's after waking Russel, who sat up with a smile on his face, well-rested and happy that they weren't needing to rush to a gig or rehearsal. That wasn't the only reason, of course, but he didn't explain himself to them. Instead, he changed into a nice floral button-down shirt and a pair of baggy khakis, much like 2D's, and his flipflops.

While Noodle and Cal dressed in the bathroom, 2D slipped off his Speedos and threw on his shorts and a button-down, leaving the front open, and hung his damp swim shorts outside.

"What other ridiculous clothing did you bring, 2D? My shirt's still damp," said Murdoc.

2D beamed. "I thought you'd never ask." He pulled a few button-downs out of the bag, laying each one out across Cal's bed. "Take your pick."

Before Murdoc was a Hawaiian-print shirt with colorful Birds of Paradise in purple, orange and turquoise; a baby blue shirt with tiny pink flamingoes sewn into it; and a plain lime green shirt.

"What the fuck is up with all this lime green?" Murdoc shot 2D a look, and 2D shrugged.

"It's attractive."

"They're all horrible."

"I'm digging the Hawaiian-print," said Cal, now standing on the other side of the bed. Noodle joined her and inspected the shirts.

"Definitely the Hawaiian." She gave Murdoc a smile and returned to brushing out her hair.

Murdoc sighed and grabbed the shirt, pulled his damp one off and put the dry one on.

"Come on, all," ushered Russel as he placed a khaki fedora on his head. "Let's not keep Letí waiting."

They walked along the strand, Cal leading with 2D and Noodle at her sides, Murdoc and Russel following. Cal commented on some of the vendors that they passed, even said hi to Darren who gave her a dirty look at first, but then realized she had people with her.

"What up, _¿_ mamacita _?_ " he greeted, stopping in front of her. "Can I interest _your friends_ in a good time?"

Cal crossed her arms over her chest. "Guys, this is Darren the Drug Guy. Is anyone interested in weed?" she plainly inquired.

Both Noodle and Russel shook their heads, while 2D thought about it for a moment.

"Nah, sorry mate. I can't cheat on Phil. We don't see each other often but he's always been there when I've needed him."

"Fair enough," replied Darren, and he then looked to Murdoc. Murdoc glared at him under his dark bangs, the attitude of his face contrasting with the brightness of his shirt. Darren smiled nervously. "Anything for you, my man?"

"I hardly believe you're carrying anything that constitutes a good time, boy."

Cal locked her arm with Murdoc's and patted the exposed part of his chest within the opened hem of his shirt. "Whoa now. Let's get you some nourishment." She glanced back at Darren. "Better luck next time, Darren."

"Yeah, no worries, Cal." He backed away as the group continued, Cal directing them to a small hut-looking storefront that was decorated with blue and green bamboo stalks, and grass that hung down over the slanted roof. Tiki torches set the front ablaze, casting a warm glow over the tall tables and high bar stools that were positioned alongside two wide, opened windows which showcased the inside of the bar, where patrons drank and talked as loud music poured out onto the strand. Between these windows were glass double-doors, La fénix spelled out in hot pink neon lights over them.

"This is it," announced Cal as she watched 2D's mouth open fall open. "Let's head in."

Russel headed in first, holding the door for Noodle and 2D to follow. Murdoc allowed Cal to pass through before him, though she still held the inside of his arm. He kept his hands in his pockets, though bent his arm out so that she could hang onto him easier.

Inside, salsa music pulsed through the speakers and a few couples danced together on the dancefloor in front of the empty stage, though the stage lights moved and flashed colors across the floor. People drank along the wide wooden bar and at the tables, laughing and conversing over the music as the group walked towards the center of the room. Letí emerged from behind the bar, carrying a tray of drinks over her shoulder.

"There she is," said Russel, and he straightened his collar and led the group towards her.

She wore a snug white tee shirt and high-waisted jean shorts, the ends frayed around the tops of her thighs. The top-right side of her hair was braided to her scalp, the rest loose, and she wore large gold hoops in her ears that matched the many bangles that adorned her wrists. After passing out the drinks from her tray, she caught sight of the group and waved with excitement, passing the tray off to one of her servers before heading over.

"Hey all!" She stopped before Russel and gave him a kiss on the cheek, Russel immediately stiffening. Then, she did the same to the rest of the group. "I saved you guys a booth near the dancefloor." She pointed across the room. "Babe, mind taking them that way? I'll grab some menus."

Cal nodded and led them across the room, dodging people, tables and other servers. Noodle and Russel slid into the booth on one side, 2D and Murdoc on the other. Cal took a chair at the end of the table near Murdoc and saved the other next to Russel for Letí. When Letí returned, she set menus in front of them all and collapsed into the empty seat.

"Busy?" joked Cal, and Letí nodded.

"Girl, ever since I started these Latin Nights it's been a mess – a good one. No band tonight, though. The congero is sick."

"Letí, this place is amazing!" exclaimed 2D.

"It sure is," added Russel. "Has a lotta personality."

"Like me," remarked Letí, offering Russel a wink. She motioned one of her servers over. "Is everyone drinking tonight?"

They all nodded, and Russel asked, "What's your house special?"

Letí turned to the server. "Baby, get us each a Cuba Libre, por favor." She gave the table a grin. "You guys are gonna love it, it's a local favorite back home."

"Where's back home?" inquired Russel.

"The Dominican Republic."

Russel nodded, impressed. "I'm from New York."

"I get those east coast vibes from you, Russel," observed Letí. "Where are the rest of you from? Britain, right?"

"England, specifically," replied Murdoc as the server returned with their drinks.

"And you're in a band?" continued Letí as she passed around each Cuba Libre.

"Yeah, 2D sings, Noodle here plays guitar, the jackass across from me plays bass, and I play drums." Russel twirled the straw in his drink and then took a long sip. "Wow, Letí, this is delicious."

"Gracías papí, I aim to please. Salud, all!" She raised her glass and everyone followed suit. "To new friends." They clanked glasses and drank. "I serve food here, too, if you all are hungry."

Replied Russel, "I will definitely be perusing the menu."

2D slurped the last of his Cuba Libre and stated, "I want to dance!"

"Can you dance merengue?" questioned Letí as the music pulsed behind them.

"Absolutely not, but I'm terrific at copying." 2D was confident in his response as he made Murdoc slide out of the booth. "I'm pretty decent with the Electric Slide now, actually." He glanced around the table. "Does anyone want to join me?"

Noodle shrugged and nodded. "I don't know how either, but the music is still fun!"

"That's the spirit!" called Letí, and she stood. "I can show you guys a few moves if you want before I have to rush off again." She looked down at Cal with a broad smile. "Any chance I can have some assistance, _¿_ chica _?_ "

Cal rolled her eyes. "You know I can't keep up with you when it comes to your cultural finesse."

"But you sure know how to get low, though." Letí nudged her with her elbow and laughed. "Don't worry, someone's gonna throw on some G-Eazy or some shit eventually. Let me get these guys out there for a bit." She then looked at Murdoc, who was nearly done with his drink. "Don't think I can get you out there, eh, viejito?"

Murdoc looked up at her and shook his head. "My expertise limits me to plucking strings."

"Horseshit," retorted Russel as he got up from the booth. "If anyone knows how to dance to music like this it's Muds. He spent some time in Mexico – learned _a lot_ down south." Russel's lips curled darkly as he held out his elbow to Letí. "But that's a story for another time. C'mon, Letí, I'd be honored to learn some moves from you."

Letí took his elbow with a shrug and motioned for the others to follow, throwing Cal a wink. Cal tapped her glass with her nails and finally looked up at Murdoc when they were both alone.

"Well, it looks like we're back at the beginning, Niccals."

"Right, except this place is a helluva improvement on the previous shithole."

"That's true. The Pig will always hold a special place in my heart, though."

"No need to miss anything – I'm right here."

"I was talking about Roberto."

"Albert."

"Whatever." They both chuckled and Cal took a drink. "So, what's all this Mexico business?"

"I thought the general consensus was that it's a story better left for another time."

Cal narrowed her eyes at him with playful suspicion. "I feel like every time you dodge a question I should be worried because the answer is probably not good."

"Ignorance is bliss, babe."

"It's also fucking annoying."

"I'd be annoyed, too, if I was ignorant."

"No you wouldn't. You wouldn't know you were."

"Touché." He leaned forward, eying her with feisty intent. "Shall I get us a round?"

Cal knew he wasn't going to be straight with her in this moment. Giving up, she nodded. As he attempted to stand, she placed a firm hand over his, Murdoc immediately looking to her, confused. "One day you're going to be a little more open, right?"

Murdoc paused, suddenly fearful about disappointing her again. He nodded and retracted his hand, avoiding people in route for the bar. While the space was crowded and noisy, and not a place he'd drink at daily for those reasons, it did have charm. As he waited for Cal's Corona and his glass of Glenlivet, Murdoc scanned over the neon flamingoes and palm trees that hung on the walls, the license plates and beach-related signs that warned of tsunamis, and the pictures – pictures he was sure were personal as he noticed Letí in a few of them. He'd never been in a bar where the owner had personal photos on the walls for strangers to view. And then he realized that many of these people were not strangers but locals, as tables conversed with other tables, joked with the servers and interacted with Letí as she worked with 2D on his dance moves, Russel and Noodle already able to get past stepping on each other's feet. Behind the bar, he observed a Polaroid near the cash register of Letí and Cal, both younger in the photo, taken at the beach. They were laughing, each with an arm around the other. Cal's hair was chopped short in an A-line cut, Letí's in braids. They had to be in their late teens, probably.

It was hard to find photos of himself so candid. Even when he smiled or laughed in promotional photos for the band, it was all staged. And at that age, he wouldn't have been smiling at all, if photos of him then even existed.

The bartender handed Murdoc the drinks with a kind smile, and he returned to the table. Cal thanked him and they each took a swallow in silence as he scanned the wall next to their booth, noting more photos from Letí's collection.

Murdoc sighed, inwardly chiding himself. _Don't do it. You're lucky she's still sitting here with you and not out having a laugh with the others like a normal person should._ He glanced at Cal, taking in her presence as she held the Corona bottle to her lips. Her salty hair was twisted up into a bun again and her lips were painted a natural pink. She didn't wear any other makeup. A couple of necklaces hung down her chest, falling into the open space of the unbuttoned collar of the loose striped button-down she wore, which was tucked into the top of her jean shorts. On her feet were a pair of sandals, and looked at him when she noticed he was staring at her.

"What is it?" she asked, self-consciously taking the end of one of her necklaces between two fingers.

"I was in jail in Mexico." The words came suddenly and while he told himself to stop, he knew he shouldn't. The muscles in his stomach tightened. "It was really stupid, actually. I, uh, kinda got caught using counterfeit checks."

Cal shook her head. " _What?_ " She couldn't suppress the laugh that followed. "How the fuck did you even get there – and _counterfeit checks_? What the hell were you buying?"

 _You're a fucking idiot._

Murdoc sat back and exhaled slowly. "The band was in a bad place at the time. We'd … well, we'd moved out here to work out a movie deal."

Cal's eyes widened.

"I know, right? Fucking Hollywood. Anyway, we all kinda went our separate ways for a bit, and I was mess because everything was falling apart, so I decided to go away. Clear the old noggin, so to speak. Like you. Went to Tijuana and … well, let's just say I got into some shit – being young and dumb, of course – and got caught with the checks. Bloody Mexican police threw me in jail, thirty-year sentence, actually, but I managed to … _alleviate_ them of my presence and went back to our studio in England."

Cal stared at him, her palms pressed into the table. "Okay, so, lemme see here – you guys had a movie deal out _here_ , obviously got fucked over, and you went to TJ to … be young and dumb." Her eyebrows heightened on her forehead. "Goddamn, do I even wanna know?"

 _Don't. Fucking. Do. It._

"Bit of a … brothel situation, actually."

Cal closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. " _You were giving counterfeit checks to prostitutes?!_ "

Murdoc's eyes darted about and he leaned in towards her. "Bloody Christ, announce it to the whole goddamn room, will you?"

"Murdoc!" Cal exclaimed, leaning in as well. "And I thought the whole threesome conversation was big."

"Look, I know this sounds bad – _it is bad_ , but, you wanted to know …"

"Yes! Yes, I do want to know …"

Murdoc crossed his arms, holding the Glenlivet against his bicep. He narrowed his eyes at her. "So you can give me some a lecture, too? It's not one of my prouder moments, Cal, trust me."

"No, Niccals. You're a grown-ass man," she replied firmly. "Your past is your past … although, brothels _are_ your past, right?"

"Of course," he snapped.

"You must be some kind of rock star, man. Mexican jails and brothels and … _counterfeit checks_." She burst out laughing.

He rolled his eyes. "Right, right, go on, get it out. See if I tell you anything ever again."

She shook her head, rueful, as she continued to chuckle, and she touched the top of his hand as it rested on his arm. "It's just, when I think of counterfeit checks I think of old ladies at the grocery store … and how _no one_ uses checks anymore." She paused, caught in a thought. "Are you full of brothel diseases, Niccals?"

" _Bah!_ You think I'm a sodding idiot? Of course I wore protection! I've always protected myself against everything: diseases, children, stupidity."

"Affection." She bit her lip as she pinched his cheek.

"Come off it," he muttered, shrugging away from her. "The only disease I caught was 2D. Bloody life sentence, that one."

"I don't think they make creams for him, I'm afraid. Besides, he's too adorable to get rid of."

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you two seem to get along quite well." He hated himself for saying anything at all. He wanted to leave, to be anywhere but here.

Cal stared him down. "We do get along well, Niccals. He's a nice guy. Likeable and enthusiastic. Just like Noodle and Russel. They're all great people."

"Then why aren't you out with them?"

"Because I'm having a nice time talking to you, even with your sulky attitude."

He eyed at her. "That makes no sense at all, Cal. You enjoy laughing and all of this. So does 2D. Why wouldn't you be out there, laughing and dancing with 'im?"

Cal turned to the group out on the dancefloor. Letí wasn't there at the moment, but Noodle, 2D and Russel were all dancing their best merengue, the boys taking turns with Noodle before trying it out on each other. Cal smiled and then turned back to Murdoc.

"Don't worry about me, Niccals. I'll be out there having a fun time with everyone. But I met you first, and fuck have you made it a mission to get to know you. I look at them and I know basically what I need to know. I'm sure there's a lot of depth there, too, a lot of stories that'll probably surprise me but … with you, it's completely different. You're not like anyone I've ever met, especially with the male species. You're an elusive creature, Mr. Niccals. The very definition of the word. But, I think that only extends to me, not because I believe you're an open book with them either, but you seem to really not want to let me in, and I have no idea why. Maybe I'm just dumb, spilling my guts to you when we first met. You probably think I am dumb, actually. The funny thing is, it didn't feel dumb. In fact, it felt completely necessary, and that's not like me. And I also think that if this was just some casual thing, you would've made your move and been gone already. But you didn't. So I'm thinking that maybe you actually want to be my friend. Why else would you come here to for a vacation knowing I'm down the street from you?"

Guilt pooled within him as he watched her. "I don't think you're dumb at all. You're the opposite of it, Cal. If you were, I wouldn't be here right now."

"So then why are you here? If I'm just like them, like 2D, why are you here with me?"

Murdoc considered his words, wanting more than anything to shout how untrue her words were. He settled for the following: "Because … because of the shit you say. The truth you do speak. How absolutely not-dumb you are. You're daft, yes, but not dumb."

Cal chuckled. "That means the same thing."

"Not in my book." He cracked a smile at her as he watched the dimples in her cheeks appear. "You're a very clever woman, Cal, one who braved the squalor of Stoke with grace and independence, and the most hilarious drunken antics I've been privileged to witness. You're easy to talk to. You make me think. All that means something to me. It's necessary that it remain for as long as it can."

Cal straightened up and stared at him, her expression growing serious as she ingested his every word. Finally, she nodded. "Sure, I could've been dancing and laughing out there with them but then I wouldn't have gotten a response like that from you. I think I win here."

"I hope so," he said honestly. "I'm not the easiest person to be around, Cal. I'd take no offense if you decided to walk away."

She swallowed the rest of her beer. "If you were easy to be around, this wouldn't be as much fun." Setting the glass down, Cal returned her gaze to him. She could see the words in his eyes but couldn't read them. There was more he had to say but wouldn't, she knew. Or maybe she was reading too much into his stare. Maybe Murdoc could be taken at face-value. It seemed unlikely though.

She recalled their aggression on the skeleton of the motel in Stoke, how familiar Murdoc was with everything in the ruined space, how he handled the piece of wood like some retired major league baseball player – the look in his dark eyes as he smashed through glass remnants and through chunks of concrete in the remaining sections of the wall. She knew he was drunk; they both were. He wasn't graceful by any means during that time, but the way he gritted his teeth as he found the strength to focus on his targets and the way the rain ran down the creases of his grimace as though he was not smashing through something random but some _thing_ – all of it captivated her.

No, Murdoc Niccals could not be taken at face-value. He was not a shell at all. He was a fortress, an onion comprised of concrete layers that he had now given her the briefest of access to. He denied this verbally, his rough exterior controlling the truth that his sheltered self meant to convey to her, but those eyes of his couldn't lie. They were not voids but tunnels, dark tunnels she knew others had probably gotten lost within before. Maybe he'd shut them down or maybe they'd given up. But Cal couldn't do so that easily, no matter what he tried to tell her. She'd walked down lonely tunnels before. Her aunt kept much inside, even up until her death, but somehow she'd found trust in Cal with some of her more personal demons – at least that's what Cal believed. And while she knew that the only person who could give trust and permission to his more intimate self was Murdoc, Cal wanted to try. She wasn't sure yet why but she needed to. Whenever she was around Murdoc, the mystery he was drew her in. She'd already found herself writing little blips about him in her journal, crafting lines of poetry referencing his allure, had written his name down in pen once … even when she didn't realize it was happening. She'd found him in certain pieces she'd started, and that was enough to compel her onward. That was enough to let her know that there was something significant here. Writing was everything to her, and if suddenly he was becoming the subject matter of that writing, then he was significant. She'd sort out the details later. For now, she'd enjoy the thrill of the ride.

"What are you thinking about?"

His words propelled her back into the bar, the Spanish music rushing back into her ears, the taste of Corona lingering on her tongue.

"I've frightened you away, haven't I?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," she replied.

"There must be something wrong with you."

"Probably."

"Then you're my kind of people, Cal." Murdoc set the empty Glenlivet glass down on the table. "I'll grab us another round, love. Be back in a tic."

Cal nodded, seeing him leave in her peripheral vision. More than anything she wanted to write, but for now, she'd enjoy another drink with him.

* * *

"You did it, didn't you?"

Cal stared at Letí curiously as she collapsed into a booth at the back of the bar. She threw an arm over her eyes. "Did what?"

Letí tossed the wet rag in her into a bucket and hopped onto the bar top, Carlito mopping the bar space behind her. "You know what I mean, hoe. You fucked him."

"Fucked who?"

" _Murdoc_. That's why you look como la muerte this morning. You fucked all night, didn't you?"

Cal sat up on her elbows and glared across the room at Letí, who laughed. "I didn't fuck him."

"Yeah you did."

" _No_ , I didn't. When we all left, they went back to their apartment and I walked home." She collapsed back into the booth. "Besides, we're just friends."

"Just friends, huh?" Letí hopped off the bar and crossed the room, leaned on the table of Cal's booth. "You sat here the entire night just chatting away. Didn't even get up to dance with us or anything. Just laughed and did that stupid shoulder touching thing that friends do _all that time_." Letí rolled her eyes. "Girl, he totally wants to fuck you."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you're young and hot, girl. Older men want that, especially when they get that attention."

"I'm sure he can get that elsewhere." Cal sat up again, remembering their conversation. "Dude, he told me they'd lived out here before because of a movie deal for their band."

Letí stood, giving Cal a skeptical look. "What band did you say they were in?"

"I didn't. I haven't asked."

"And he hasn't said?"

Cal shook her head. "I kinda don't want to know."

"Why?" Letí moved into the opposite side of the booth. "If they really are big, you could get all of the dirt you want on this dude, see what kind of trouble he is or he isn't … but probably is."

"That's a box I'd prefer not to open."

"And a waste of time if he turns out to be total trash."

"It just seems like ... cheating. If I'm going to get to know Murdoc, I want it to be organically. I didn't have a rap sheet for _you_ when we became friends."

Letí gave her a giant, sardonic grin. "I'm a saint, baby."

Cal shook her head. "You and Russel seemed to dance a lot last night."

Letí shrugged. "I still got my groove, girl. Miguel didn't fuck that over for me." She and Cal both glanced down at Letí's bare left hand. "I ain't getting tied down again. I'll have fun, but this empire I've built won't be usurped by a penis."

"I really don't think Russel's into usurping anything," Cal remarked, resting her head on her hand.

"I don't get those vibes either. So, if you and old man Murdoc didn't bang, why're you so tired?"

"I was up most of the night writing," Cal replied with a yawn. "I got on this flow, man, and rode that shit."

"For your novel?"

"I've actually been working on some poetry."  
Letí nodded, impressed. "Haven't heard you talk about poetry in a long time."

"I know, right? It's really crept up on me. Ever since … well, England." Letí's lips slowly curled, and Cal immediately shook her head. "Calm your tits, woman."

Letí pointed to her chest with both index fingers. "These queens shall not be tamed, chica. And you've got some undealt with shit going on with your bassist amigo." She stood, heading back towards the bar. "'He's just a friend,'" she mimicked. "Mierda, mamí. Lying is bad, especially to yourself."

Cal smirked, watching Letí grab the rag again. "Hey Letí, go be useful and clean something."

Letí flipped her off with her free hand. "Eh, ese, go diddle it to Grandpa Munster." They both laughed, Cal flipping her off. "But seriously, if you two fuck, you better tell me. I need to know."

"Why, so you can diddle it to the dirty details?"

"Fuck you, bitch. Totally not into that at all … doesn't mean I ain't curious, though."

Cal got up and stretched. "I'm out. I'll pop by later, loca."

"Yeah, sure." Letí watched Cal walk across the empty bar. "Hey." Cal turned. "You know, hypothetically, if you were into him … I think that'd be okay."

Cal rolled her eyes. "Thanks mom, but it's not gonna happen."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it won't. He isn't into me like that. We're just friends."

"Sure, loca, sure. Keep lying. It's gotten you this far already."

"Fiction and lying are two separate things, Letí." Cal pushed open the entrance to La fénix, the bright light of the morning hitting her in the face. "The former is going to pay my rent."

"And mine!" Letí called after her as the door closed. She laughed at herself and continued cleaning the bar.


End file.
